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COLLECTION OF FOREIGN AUTHORS, 


No. VIII. 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 




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MADAME 

GOSSELIN 


LOUIS ULBACH 


I 



NEW YORK 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 




649 AND 651 BROADWAY 
1878 




COPTEIGHT BY 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 

1878 . 


CONTENTS, 


CHAP. 

I. — Monsieur Pleumeur 

II. — Captain Kernuz 

III. — Madame Gosselin 

IV. — Berthe Mauroy 

Y. — ^La Belle Cleopatre 
VI. — The Family Dinner-Party . 

VII. — Dreams .... 
VIII. — Realities . . . . 

IX. — The Captain’s Pipe 

X. — Captain Gosselin avenged . 

XI. — Two Scenes on a Fine Night . 

XII. — Madame Gosselin alone 

XIII. — The Bunch of Roses 

XIV. — The First Investigation 

XV. — The Triumph op M. Pleumeur . 

XVI. — The Triumph of Madame Gosselin . 
XVIL — The Will is opened 

XVIII. — Happiness . . . . 


PAGE 

7 

19 
. 32 

46 

. 67- 

74 
. 87 

96 

. 110 
129 
. 137 
149 
. 166 
167 
. 177 
191 
. 207 
214 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP. 

XIX. — Le Pas de Vis . 

XX. — The Burglary 

XXI. — Mystery . 

XXn. — The Eve of Judgment 
XXIII. — Before the Trial 

XXIV. — The Trial 

XXV. — The Pleading 

XXVI. — Expiation 
XXVII. — Remorse . 


PAGE 

233 

247 

267 

276 

298 

310 

333 

346 

364 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


CHAPTER I. 

MONSIEUR PLEUMEUE. 

Between the town of Lorient and the village — or, 
more properly, the suburb — of Kerantrec, standing apart 
from the beautiful country villas which have for some 
time past been increasing in this vicinity, so sheltered and, 
in part, concealed by a little slope that is only visible to 
those who walk along the road that follows the course of 
the little river Scorff, was a small building that might have 
been thought a deserted ruin, had not the long continu- 
ance of its present state proved that it was kept out of 
repair on purpose, and indicated a sort of pride in pover- 
ty on the part of its owner. 

In it there lived a very singular man — a stranger in 
that part of the country — whom his neighbors held to be 
inoffensive because he was taciturn, and kindly-disposed 
because his face wore an unchanging smile. But his in- 
offensiveness was not attractive, and his smile made those 
feel melancholy on whom it fell. 

At Lorient, where labor and the pursuit of knowledge 
are held in local esteem, this student was considered a 


8 


MADAME G08SELIK 


learned man ; while his looks in other parts of Brittany 
would have brought him into disrepute as a wizard. 

Every morning “the hermit” walked to Lorient to 
teach algebra and geometry to the pupils in the Tinguy 
Academy. He also gave a few private lessons to young 
men preparing for their degrees, and he frequently made 
reports to the ship-builders of the place on the estimates 
they intrusted to him to verify. 

For nearly fifteen years M. Pleumeur had been the 
sole inhabitant of this little dwelling. For fifteen years, 
with the precision and regularity of a machine, he had 
trodden the same paths, pm-sued the same employments, 
given the same lessons, and no one during that time had 
ever seen him in a crowd or in a place of amusement. 
The utmost that could be obtained from him in the way 
of rough politeness was an occasional ceremonious call, 
after he had refused — as he invariably did — some pressing 
invitation. 

Was it some bitter grief — was it some terrible mis- 
take in his life — ^which had given M. Pleumeur that 
pallid face, those hollow cheeks, that stem, hard mouth 
and eyes ? Or had he carried out so completely his life of 
solitude, that his very look had become the reflection of 
the dreary loneliness of his dwelling? Whence had he 
come ? What was the past existence from which he must 
have broken loose when he allowed his life to fall into its 
present undeviating monotony ? 

M. Denis Pleumeur never endeavored to avoid any 
questions that were asked him. He answered readily any 
inquiries. Only, nobody seemed to like to ask him ques- 
tions, and the most lively curiosity died away when, after 
a few first words, he looked full in the face of the inquirer, 
and chilled him to the heart by his cold smile. 


MOmiEUB PLEUMEUB. 


9 


This reserved and silent philosopher had, however, a 
friend — a young man, his former pupil, whose studies he 
had superintended, and with whom he still enjoyed chat- 
ting about mathematics and the sciences ; if one may apply 
the word enjoyment to the condescension of a pedagogue 
bent on continuing the instruction of a pupil, with a view, 
no doubt, of increasing his own knowledge. 

This young man was a mechanical engineer, about 
twenty-four years of age — M. George Gosselin, superin- 
tendent of the workshops of M. Mauroy, one of the 
great ship-builders of Lorient. 

George, with his cordial and ardent temperament, 
either in obedience to the laws of contrast in attraction, 
or with that turn for incongruity which belongs to youth, 
and is frequently developed by the close study of mathe- 
matics, had become exceedingly attached to his stem 
master, and for ten years had been looking forward to 
some happy day in the future when he hoped to succeed 
in humanizing him, thawing him, and making him return 
his own affection. 

His theory was, that under his old master’s marble 
crust existed a man of naturally strong passions — or feel- 
ings, at any rate — whose nature was repressed rather 
than benumbed. He was persuaded he had sometimes de- 
tected gleams of feeling in his gloomy eyes. 

A singular attraction, such as souls of a high order often 
experience, led him each day to his old master’s dwelling. 
He always called him his “ old master,” and yet M. Pleu- 
meur was barely fifty ; and George had set himself no 
small task when he dreamed of bringing back to youth 
again a nature that appeared to own no age, and was 
paralyzed with mathematics. 

Heed we repeat, that there was no vulgar thought of 


10 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


self, no sacrilegious curiosity, in this task he set before him- 
self. George expected to hear his master laugh, but hoped 
to see him weep ; and he intended to weep with him. 

We shall soon find out that George Gosselin was at 
that period of his life when a young man enjoys melan- 
choly, and when tears are as essential to the growth of his 
heart as dews to early verdure. 

A day seldom passed without a meeting between M. 
Pleumeur and George Gosselin. 

The mathematical professor did much work for M. 
Mauroy ; and George, in going to and fro to his mother, 
who lived at Kerantrec, always passed the house of M. 
Pleumeur. 

George Gosselin was tall, well-formed, and had one of 
those open foreheads which almost seem to expand under 
the influence of an elevated thought within. His blue 
eyes were still restless with the eagerness of boyhood. 
His mouth could only be kept firmly closed when he was 
busy, and as soon as he lifted his head from his work, as 
soon as he breathed the fresh air, his lips parted, a smile 
broke forth, and his whole countenance was lighted up by 
the red line of his lips, like an artist’s touch of vivid color. 

A sculptor might have found some fault with his half- 
startled look and his irregular features. A painter would 
have been charmed with the clear tinting of his cheeks 
from the healthy circulation of the blood under the skin. 
A keen observer would have been touched by indications 
of a love for generous acts, of powers of mind aspiring to 
noble ends, which shone in his clear eyes, on his red lips, 
in the very curls of his brown hair, and lighted up his 
features. 

On the day upon which our story begins, George 
Gosselin seemed restless and uneasy, and he sighed deep- 


MONSIEUR PLEUMEUR, H 

ly, as, about six o’clock of an August evening, he pushed 
open the little door of M. Pleumeur’s dwelling. 

That learned man generally sat in the down-stairs 
room, which served him at once as dining room, study, 
library, and parlor. What we have said of the building out- 
side, was true also of the furniture. Everything was shab- 
by, but there was a sort of pride about its poverty. And 
the books which weighed down the rough shelves on all 
the walls, made it impossible to pity the hermit for living 
so exceptional a life, since he had evidently chosen it 
rather than the more pleasant, comfortable, and common- 
place existence of other people. 

The problem upon which he was engaged must have 
been difficult to solve, for, when George entered, his old 
master’s look was fixed, and riveted upon the wall before 
him. His eyebrows were drawn down till they made a 
dark, fierce line ; his lips were so compressed that they 
had disappeared under the double pressure from beneath 
and from above, so that the mouth made but a slight line 
in his pallid countenance. 

M. Pleumeur had not heard the door open. 

“ Good-moming, said George, entering softly. 

Everything at once changed in the whole face and 
manner of M. Pleumeur. He cast down his eyelids to 
hide the gleam in his eyes before he looked up at George. 
His mouth returned ; his eyebrows became smooth; a pink 
tinge (perhaps only a play of the light which had entered 
with the visitor through the open door) lit up his learned 
features. 

“ Ah ! is that you, George ? ” said he, in an almost gentle 
accent. “Are you not going home earlier than usual? 
Is your — mother — ” 

“No, my mother is quite well ; but I was able to get 


12 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


off from the workshops early, and I walked fast, because I 
have something I want to consult you about, M. Pleumeur.” 

The professor slowly closed the book on which he had 
placed his elbow, turned round to George, and said, with 
his accustomed gravity : 

“ I am listening to you.” 

George seemed suddenly embarrassed. He took a 
chair, sat down near the table, more than once passed his 
hands through his hair, and then said, in a trembling voice, 
“ I am very unhappy ! ” 

M. Pleumeur felt a sort of electric shock as the sigh of 
this candid confession fell upon his ear. There was a sud- 
den light in his eyes : 

“You, my boy?” he said, looking down so as to veil 
the tell-tale gleam which had flashed from his pupil’s. 

“ Yes ; I have not liked to speak to you about it ; but 
I have been thinking. I owe you so much already ! You 
have done me so much good by your teaching, and ad- 
vice — ” 

As he spoke, the young man timidly half held out his 
hand, hoping M. Pleumeur might have placed his own in 
it ; but the unmoved professor did not stir. 

“Yes,” resumed George; “I owe you everything — 
my success in my examination, my reputation at school, 
and my place with M. Mauroy.” 

“ You were an excellent pupil, George, and M. Mauroy, 
I know, finds you a good superintendent.” 

“ But for you,” pursued George, “ I never should have 
been able to direct and superintend the construction of 
that schooner, which is about to make the reputation, and 
will, no doubt, double the fortune of M. Mauroy. It was 
you who cleared up and put in working order my master’s 
confused plans for her construction.” 


MONSIEUR PLEUMEUR. 


13 


“You mistake, George. The idea of the screw came 
from you.” 

“That was no great discovery. That idea has been 
the talk of all the ship-yards. But it was yourself, M. 
Pleumeur, who, by your calculations, made costly models 
and experiments unnecessary, and demonstrated the right 
proportions necessary for the proper construction of the 
double keel with the screw in the middle.” 

“ I tell you again, I invented nothing.” 

“I know you never will acknowledge all the kind 
things you have done for me.” 

“ Because you make too much of them.” M. Pleumeur 
spoke almost in a tone of harsh reproof. 

“Well, then, I will speak of them no more. The 
schooner is finished. The launch is to take place in a week. 
I do not doubt she will sail splendidly, and, thanks to La 
Belle Cleopatre — ” 

“ Ah ! then it is settled — M. Mauroy is to give her 
that name ? ” said M. Pleumeur, still dryly. 

“ Yes ; and he has no idea that the name, too, came 
from you. He thinks he hit on it himself, like the double 
keel, and the screw.” 

“You must not disturb that notion.” 

“I should not want to disturb it, if it were not the 
foundation of a great injustice which may possibly be the 
prelude to a great misfortune.” 

The mathematical professor cast a quick, keen glance 
upon George Gosselin. 

“ This morning,” the young man went on, with rising 
emotion, “ M. Mauroy told me, as indeed he has told me a 
hundred times before, that, as soon as La Belle Cleopatre 
is launched, he means to take a partner.” 

“ That partner will be you ? ” 


14 


MADAME GOSSELim 


‘‘Yes, if I bring two hundred thousand francs into the 
business, which is the sum he is looking for.” 

“You have more than two hundred thousand francs’ 
worth of resources and talents in your brain ! ” said M. 
Pleumeur, dryly and authoritatively, as if he wished for 
no argument on this assertion. . 

“ Possibly, sir, by the help of your advice ; but M. 
Mauroy does not think so, and he gave me to understand 
that, in a week, this question of partnership must be set- 
tled. If I cannot satisfy him, he has another partner in 
view — the son of a ship-owner at Bordeaux.” 

“Well, then,” said M. Pleumeur, as calmly as he had 
before spoken, “ let him commit this blunder, and do you 
carry your talents and inventions elsewhere.” 

“But you do not as yet know all,” said George, 
eagerly; “M. Mauroy wants his partner to be — his son- 
in-law.” 

“ Ah ! so that is it ? ” said M. Pleumeur, looking stead- 
ily at George. 

“ And I love Berthe Mauroy more than my fame, my 
fortune, or my life ! ” cried the young man. “ The idea 
of seeing her the wife of another makes me wild. I could 
not bear it — I swear I could not ! ” 

For the second time a sudden gleam lighted the eyes 
of the mathematician ; then the light was suddenly extin- 
guished, the thin lips opened, and a sarcastic smile spread 
over his features. 

“ So, George,” he said, “ you are in love ? ” 

“ Did you not so understand me ? ” 

“ I understand you ; but I pity you ! ” 

“ I am only to be pitied if I lose Berthe Mauroy.” 

“ You are to be pitied if you have fallen in love.” 

“ Ah ! cher mattre ! — ” 


MONSIEUR PLEUMEUR. 


15 


“ Understand me, I am no master for you upon that 
subject.” 

The professor now sat upright in his chair, and tried 
to petrify George with his look of marble. 

George was surprised and alarmed by the bitterness of 
his old master on the subject of love. 

“ Is it not natural ? ” he said, in a low voice. 

“ Yes, natural enough. It is an every-day snare in this 
world. But I hoped to have found in you one who was 
brave and in earnest. I devoted you to Science, and you 
are going to forsake her ! ” 

“ No, sir. I shall only give her an object — ” 

“ An object ! ” cried M. Pleumeur, with a savage 
laugh; -“why should Science need an object? If you 
mean an end, are there any ends in this world ? There 
are limits to everything, of course, against which a man 
may crush himself — against which he may stumble, or be 
swall6wed up in quicksands. J oys of a moment may breed 
the sorrows of a lifetime.” 

“ I do not ask for perfect happiness,” said George ; 
“ but I do want to love, and to be loved.” 

‘‘ Ah, boy,” resumed the professor, drawn on to speak 
more freely than his wont, “ beyond the limits of the pos- 
itive sciences there is no safe shelter for reflection, no point 
eTappui for the will. When I solve a problem, I obtain a 
certain result camplete and satisfactory to my reason. 
There are no disturbing elements, no lies, no accidents, no 
crimes, in Science. Why do you give her up ? ” 

“ I do not give her up,” replied George Gosselin, ear- 
nestly ; ‘‘ I wish to crown her with my love ! ” 

“ Poetic fancies,” murmured M. Pleumeur. 

“ Poetic fancies, if you will. Have you no faith in 
poetry?” 


16 


MADAME aOSSELIN. 


“ Enough faith to be afraid of it. I believe in poetiy 
as I believe in falsehood.” 

“ Then you refuse to advise me ? ” 

“ Do not ask me. The advice I gave you might be too 
harsh for you. I do not care to disturb your happy 
dreams.” 

“I fancied,” said the young engineer, despondently, 
“ that you might be willing to speak to M. Mauroy, Cap- 
tain Kernuz, and my mother.” 

“ Certainly not. M. Mauroy would not listen to me ; 
nor would Captain Kemuz, with whom you liye, like me 
to speak to him. M. Mauroy has too much pride, Captain 
Kernuz too much money.” 

“ My mother might be willing to assist you.” ' 

“ Your mother always acts as if she shared the preju- 
dices against me felt by Captain Kemuz. When I bow 
to her in the street she barely looks at me. I cannot speak 
to your mother.” 

M. Pleumeur uttered these words so coldly and de- 
cidedly, that George drew back, and felt that it was use- 
less to press him further. 

“ Then I must speak myself to Captain Kemuz,” he 
said, with a sigh. “ The captain is the old friend of my 
father. We have been living with him five years, at his 
earnest instance and invitation. He provides entirely for 
my mother. If he has done all this for fny father’s sake, 
he may do more for the honor of our name. If he will 
but enable me to form this partnership with M. Mauroy, 
I will repay him all he may advance, by hard work and 
energy.” 

Tell him so.” 

“ I mean to tell him so this evening. After all. Captain 
Kernuz is an honest man — very just, in spite of his rough- 


MONSIEUR PLEUMEUB. I7 

ness ; very kind, though he appears so odd. I will speak 
to him ; but if he declines — ” 

“ Then what will you do ? ” 

“ I don’t know. I shall despair.” 

“ How lightly young people like you talk of despair ! 
Despair is not so common a thing as you seem to suppose.” 

The conversation lasted some time longer, cold, with 
occasional bursts of cynicism on the part of M. Pleumeur, 
while George felt his frank enthusiasm wounded and re- 
pelled. 

When he got up to go, M. Pleumeur rose^ slowly from 
his straw-bottomed arm-chair, and said, with some author- 
ity in his tone : 

“ I shall see you to-morrow ? ” 

“ Yes, monsieur,” replied the young man, with respect. 

Notwithstanding his admiration for his master, George 
felt relieved on passing into the open air, and breathing, in 
the cool of the evening, a better, purer atmosphere than 
that of the close and gloomy study. 

The professor, who had taken leave of him at the house- 
door, stood looking thoughtfully after him as he walked 
away. An observer might have almost fancied he was 
counting the steps of the handsome young man along the 
high-road that led by the side of the river. And yet he 
had thrown cold water on his love-dream and ambition. 

When George passed out of sight round an angle in 
the road, M. Pleumeur drew back into the dark shadows 
of his little room, clasped his thin hands so tightly that 
the joints cracked, and, looking into the clouds of dust 
along the road, now reddened by the sunset, smiled a smile 
which passed over his lips like a sudden gleam. 

“ Go on and prosper ! There is no fear for you, 
George,” he whispered to himself ; “ you always will be 


18 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


happy ! Poor fellow I he thought he was confiding to 
me his little love-secret. I had guessed it already. That 
little thing, Berthe Mauroy, is very pretty. &Jie is pretty, 
he is handsome. They will make a noble couple. Every 
one who sees them will look on them with envy. Will 
they come and see me, I wonder, when they have every- 
thing to make them selfish and ungrateful ? ” 

M. Pleumeur, as he spoke, drew further back into the 
darkest shadows of his room, as if he feared the light of 
day might catch some revelation of his true self, stripped 
of its mask of marble. He knocked up against the table, 
laid his hand upon it, touched the book he was reading 
when George interrupted him, and, closing it suddenly, 
exclaimed, angrily : 

‘‘ He is right. Where is the use of studying, if one 
has no dream of good to come, no hope to shed its ray 
over mere squalid reality ? Science for science’ sake may 
do for me, the forcat of labor, the galley-slave of hope- 
lessness. At any rate, I will take a holiday this evening. 
I will work no more. I will go out and breathe the air — 
the same air he has just passed through.” 

Quitting his little abode with the furtive step of a 
wild beast venturing out of its den, M. Pleumeur took his 
way down the same road along which George Gosselin 
had just hastened on his way home to his mother. 


CAPTAIN KEBNUZ, 


19 


CHAPTER 11. 

CAPTAIlsr KEENUZ. 

Geoege Gosselin was the son of a sea-captain who 
had been absent from home seven years, and had not been 
heard of for the past two years. Was he dead? Had he 
been lost at sea ? Or did his long absence and long silence 
only furnish another proof of the little hold retained upon 
a sailor’s heart by his wife and child ? 

And yet this old sea-dog from time to time had given 
proofs of feeling. Captain Kernuz, one of his former 
friends, had fallen in with him five years before, in the 
harbor of Saigon, a port in Cochin-China. Kernuz was 
then upon the point of setting sail for Europe with a val- 
uable cargo. It was his last voyage. He was tired of cir- 
cumnavigation; he had been successful in all sorts of ex- 
peditions (though he never did more than allude to some 
of them) ; he had been an experienced merchant, and a 
bold privateer; but he had always been devoted to his na- 
tive place. In all his voyages he had become home-sick 
for Lorient, and he had grown impatient now to take pos- 
session at last of the handsome house he had picked out 
for himself at Kerantrec. Besides this, he indulged dreams 
of getting the right to quarter (for himself alone) the an- 
cient arms of the Sailor’s East India Company of Lorient 
— a blue globe charged with a golden fleur-de-lis^ with 
this motto, ^^Florebo quocumque ferar.^'* 

Kernuz — a stout, red-faced man, generous, kindly, and 
fond of boasting — tried earnestly to persuade Captain 
Gosselin to make his arrangements, and go home with 
liim. 


20 


MADAME aOSSELIN. 


I have moi’e than I can spend alone,” he said. “ Come 
back, and spend it with me. I am too old to think of maiTy- 
ing ; too devoid of domestic feelings, perhaps, to care for 
being a father. Come home to me, and bring your family. 
I will be an uncle to your son, a brother to your wife, and 
your old shipmate and comrade.” 

These offers, however. Captain Gosselin declined — gent- 
ly at first, petulantly when they were pressed upon him. He 
was not weary of his calling ; he wanted to make a few 
more voyages. He mocked at the splendid vision of the 
blue-and-gold globe; he protested he had no ambition, and 
said plainly that he had every intention of continuing to 
absent himself from his native shores. 

When Kemuz asked if there was anything he could 
do for him in France, he answered; 

‘‘ Nothing ! ” 

“ What ! no message for your son ? ” 

“ Tell my son to grow up to be a useful man.” 

“ What shall I say to your wife ? ” 

Anything you think proper.” 

Captain Gosselin did not add another word ; .and Cap- 
tain Kemuz, convinced that some deep-seated depression 
possessed him, did not press him further ; but, on leaving 
the harbor of Saigon, he made a solemn promise to himself 
— a vow he kept on his retm-n to his own land. 

The day after he cast anchor at Lorient he called on 
Madame Gosselin, and said; 

“ I have seen your husband ; he is well, and he 
says you must come and live with me till his return 
home.” 

Madame Gosselin offered no objectiop. Quitting the 
little house which she had occupied for about ten years, 
since she first came to Lorient (for she had lived at 


CAPTAIN KERNUZ. 


21 


Nantes during tlie earlier years of her marriage), she took 
up her abode at Kerantrec. 

George Gosselin, however, wanted further information. 

Captain Kemuz merely replied that he was carrying 
out his father’s wishes, and, besides, that he himself was 
anxious to pay off an obligation to his old shipmate, who 
had been very good to him, and whose partner he had 
been in several seafaring enterprises. 

George, though a thorough mathematician, was as 
easily convinced by reasons founded upon sentiment as by 
demonstrations based on algebra. He believed what Cap- 
tain Kemuz told him. He accepted the comfortable hos- 
pitality of the old friend of his father, and matters had 
been going on thus for several years at the time of the 
opening of our story. 

Kernuz had been influenced by a sort of sentimental 
feeling in his generosity. 

The gloomy and despondent look of Captain Gosselin, 
as the two friends talked over Captain Kemuz’s grand pro- 
ject of setting up housekeeping at Kerantrec, had left be- 
hind it certain stings of remorse; and he fancied he should 
best attract his ancient comrade home again by domesti- 
cating his family. 

We may also mention, by way of adding its touch of 
selfishness to the transaction, that the captain’s vanity was 
gratified by this act of beneficence, which cost him little 
or nothing. 

Madame Gosselin occupied small space in the estab- 
lishment, and gave no trouble. Her son was a most 
charming fellow ; well educated, yet careful never to ex- 
pose the ignorance of the good captain, as they chatted 
together pleasantly about scientific things. The old man 
could converse with George without being humiliated 


22 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


either by learned contradictions or by servile submission 
to his crude ideas. Morning and evening they used to 
hold long talks about the ancient cockle-shells in which 
the grand old Breton sailors of the old East India Com- 
pany made their world-famous voyages, in contrast with 
the iron-clad ships of the inferior sailors of our own day. 
George never got angry ; but Kernuz got just excited 
enough to help his digestion. 

All things had turned out for the best, and the captain 
was well satisfied. 

He did not fail, however, to receive from time to time, 
by means of sighs, winks, warnings, reproaches, and re- 
monstrances, good advice from his man Pomic, a sort of 
amphibious domestic, good at sea and good ashore ; who 
had been with his captain thirty years, and who, in all 
the voyages and travels of that period, had acquired a 
temper as uncertain as the waves and as bitter as brine. 

Pomic felt a natural antagonism toward everything 
that, either by chance or by design, came between himself 
and the captain. It might almost have been said that he 
hated even the well-made coats now worn by Captain 
Kemuz, because they buttoned over the hairy breast which 
he had long looked upon as the visible heart of his master. 

Pornic swallowed as many oaths, chewed up as many 
curses, and puffed out as much wrath, as any sailor’s nature 
could be expected to stand, when he found that Madame 
Gosselin and her son were to be installed in the house of 
his captain. 

George won his favor, however, in a short time, by that 
frank openness which unclosed all men’s hearts to him ; 
besides, the young fellow was an adept at building boats ; 
he had models of little ships in his own chamber. He 
had promised Pornic a drawing of La Belle Cleopatre. 


CAPTAIN KEENUZ. 


23 


He was almost like a sailor. But that tall, long, pale, 
Madame Gosselin, was his detestation ; so much so, that he 
felt a species of remorse for not being able to dislike such 
a mother’s son. He was positively afraid of this cold, 
silent, sternly religious woman. 

‘‘ The captain has a ghost aboard of us,” he often said 
under his breath, when he saw Madame Gosselin’s face re- 
flected in a looking-glass ; and it is bad luck to have 
her aboard.” 

When Kernuz heard asides like this, which were gen- 
erally intended for his ear, he laughed, and shrugged his 
shoulders. When Pornic took him on another tack, en- 
deavoring to make capital of the little sympathy that he 
could perceive existed between his master and Madame 
Gosselin, he was generally roughly checked by the captain, 
with : 

“ She is not my wife ; she is Gosselin’s. He is not my 
son ; he is Gosselin’s. I am not to be expected to love 
them, but I am under an obligation to keep my word.” 

On the evening of the opening of our story. Captain 
Kemuz, bedizened with many rings and watch-chains, his 
face shaded by a large straw hat from the rays of the set- 
ting sun, was leaning back in a rustic arm-chair in his gar- 
den, smoking his pipe, with that sense of a sort of bea- 
tiflc voluptuousness which the smokers of the Low Coun- 
tries have taught to other men, when George opened the 
gate and came toward him. 

Looking into the evidently disturbed face of the young 
engineer, and perceiving that some anxiety was slightly 
dilatipg and as suddenly contracting his features, the cap- 
tain called out, laughingly : 

“ Is anything the matter with La Belle Cleopatre ? Has 
she given up the ghost before swimming in blue water ? ” 


24 


MADAME G0S8ELIK 


For several months past the construction of the famous 
schooner, and the application of the double keel, had been 
the subject of no end of discussions and jokes between 
them. George was amused by these quarrels. On this 
occasion he was quite ready to profit by the captain’s ad- 
dress, even as an orator takes his precautions to put him- 
self into pleasant relations with his auditors. 

“ No, captain,” said he, readily. “ The Cleopatre is 
as well as can be expected, and is only waiting for your 
aspics.'*’* ’ 

“Well, well,” resumed the captain, “in my time it 
was only babies who imagined that a boat had to have two 
legs to walk with on the water.” 

He laughed at his own joke, as he had often done be- 
fore ; and George, whose heart was beating fast, laughed 
too, out of diplomatic sympathy. 

“Well, then, if La Belle Cleopatre be not like the 
Belle Bourbonaise ; if she will not yaw — I mean yawn — 
after the long time she has taken to get rigged up, why 
do you come here looking like a man who wants to ask me 
for something in a tremendous hurry ? ” 

George grew a little pale, and then, with the same bold 
bonhomie, continued : 

“ Because I am in personal danger, captain, from a leak 
which may send me to the bottom.” 

“ You ? Why, what has happened to you ? What do 
you want of me ? ” 

George, disconcerted by the energy of the tone and 
the appositeness of the question, dared not reply. 

Captain Kemuz, to give him time, began fumbling for 
his tobacco, to fill his pipe. 


* The French nautical term for a twelve-pounder. 


CAPTAIN KEENUZ, 


25 


“ I’ll bet,” said he, good-humoredly, that it is about 
some debts at the ca/6.” 

‘‘ I never go there, captain.” 

“True enough. Well, to whom, then, do you owe 
money ? ” 

“ I do not owe anything, captain,” said George, rather 
proudly, half interrupting Captain Kemuz. 

“ Then I don’t see what I can do for you, my lad, for 
all my stoppers are for leaks of that kind.” 

George grew very pale. He felt quite another kind of 
embarrassment from that which he had experienced in 
the presence of M. Pleumeur, but he was quite as uncom- 
fortable. 

He wanted to act straightforwardly toward a man 
whom he considered eminently straightforward. Leaning 
upon the back of the captain’s arm-chair, with an impres- 
sion that he could speak more boldly because he was stand- 
ing up, while the smoker he addressed was half lying down, 
he spoke of the matter of the partnership, as he had ex- 
plained it before to his master, stopping short, however, 
at that point where the feelings of his heart blended with 
the interests of his ambition. 

Kernuz frowned, and puckered up his face at the first 
words. He managed, by rapid sucks, to blow his pipe 
to a red heat, as if to throw off his ill-humor. But, as 
George went on, he gradually listened vdth a smile, and 
the puffs became slower and more majestic, floating away 
blue into the blue atmosphere, like the azure globe of the 
old sailors of Lorient. 

When George had done, Kemuz took his pipe out of 
his mouth, shook out its ashes, sat up in his chair, and 
made a sign to the young engineer, who had been speak- 
ing over his head, to come round where he could see him. 

2 


26 


MADAME GOSSELIJSr. 


“ This is a proposition, my young friend, which at the 
first blush displeased me, devilishly,” said he, “ but I should 
have done wrong not to hear all you had to say about it. 
When a man has done what I have done, he must take the 
consequences. You want a loan. The first thing you do, 
of course, is to come to Captain Kemuz, who is rich, whose 
money is no secret, and who has led you to believe that 
your father’s name can do anything with him.” 

George began a gesture as if in protest, but he re- 
strained himself and bit his lips. 

“ I should have been a great fool,” resumed the cap- 
tain, to get angry at a presumption I have encouraged. 
But—” 

‘‘ Then you refuse me, I suppose ? ” said George Gosse- 
lin, with impetuosity. “Forgive me. Captain Kemuz ; I 
thought I was dealing as I ought in speaking to you on 
the subject — not in my father’s name, as you appear to 
think, but as I would have spoken to my father.” 

“I don’t refuse you — sacrebleu ! cried the captain. 
“ I don’t refuse you, but I don’t accept your proposition. 
I’ll think about it.” 

“ But time presses — ” 

“ Time never presses except upon old men. Time will 
take time to wait for you, my boy. The old ship-owner 
at Bordeaux is no fool, any more than I am. You may 
be certain, in the first place, that he will wait until your 
toy-boat is launched. Between ourselves, I am only afraid 
you may be taken in by your employer ; that M. Mauroy 
may be ruined himself, or, at least, have seriously em- 
barrassed himself, in building La Belle Cleopatre ; and 
if her pretty ladyship should sink, that her builder may 
have work to swim.” 

“ Oh ! Captain — ” 


CAPTAIN KERNUZ. 


27 


“ A fellow who has been engaged in trafficking with 
Caffres knows enough about roguery to be even with any 
white man. We shall see ! we shall see ! Now-a-days you 
invent machines for ships without consulting Father Nep- 
tune. You set down on paper all kinds of incontestable 
theories, which the sea is expected to conform to ; and 
where you have proved by A plus B that a bit of ma- 
chinery, a corkscrew fixed between two keels, is going to 
keep your vessel afloat, all the sailors in the world — the 
fellows who, in old times, saw the biggest vessels pitch 
and toss in awful storms like chips blown about by the 
breath of an old woman — may swear as much as they like 
that your Belle Cleopatre will whirl round like a reel at 
the first invitation she gets for a waltz with old Ocean, 
and you won’t believe them. We old fellows were obsti- 
nate enough when it came to facing death in my time ; 
but you are obstinate about everything that concerns Sci- 
ence, though she gives you the lie continually. Anyhow, 
the sea must have her say in this matter. When s/ie has 
pronounced upon La Belle Cleopatre, I will tell you what 
I have to say about this partnership with M. Mauroy.” 

“ I think, captain, that all precautions have been taken 
against any ordinary perils, and that La Belle Cleopatre 
bids fair to do honor to our dockyards. But while we 
try to be armed on all points against the sea, we cannot 
prevent her having dangers in store that we cannot provide 
for. There would be no glory to be won if everything 
was too safe and easy. Never feai*. Captain Kemuz ; in 
all human schemes, and in all human constructions, the 
chances are against human ability.” 

‘‘ You are proudly modest. Master George.” 

“ I have no pride to hide, no modesty to exhibit,” re- 
plied George. ‘‘ I have done my best, as my duty was, to 


28 


MADAME G08SELIK 


caiTy out an idea which anybody might have utilized. 
M. Pleumeur helped me. K there be any genius in the 
matter, it is his, not mine.” 

At M. Pleumeur’s name Captain Kemuz frowned 
again. 

‘‘ Did that gentleman put you up to coming to me in 
this matter ? ” 

“ M. Pleumeur had no need to counsel me as to the 
esteem and gratitude I feel for you.” 

‘‘ I don’t like that old book- worm,” went on the sailor. 
“You are always praising his cleverness. Why has he 
never done anything for himself with it ? He lives like a 
beggar.” 

“You mean, like an ancient philosopher,” said George. 

“ It is no great merit to live like a philosopher, when 
a man hasn’t a cent to spend.” 

“ But you must own it is always meritorious,” replied 
George, courteously, yet firmly, “ to keep alive in poverty 
a spirit of justice toward the rich ; and for a man never 
to bear malice for being down, when all the time he must 
feel himself superior to his conquerors.” 

“How enthusiastic you are when you speak of M. 
Pleumeur ! ” 

“ Because I sincerely feel what I say.” 

“ I don’t blame you, morhleu ! Love your friends ; it 
is the best way, after all, of getting yourself loved — any- 
how, I don’t know a better one. Do you know — ^to come 
back to your idea — that I think your aims in life are rather 
humdrum ? ” 

“Mine?” 

“ Yes ; you seem to be impatient to settle down like a 
good, quiet citizen who is not afraid he will grow restless 
one of these days. At your age I had been near being 


CAPTAIN KEENUZ. 


29 


eaten three times, and dying of hunger twice. I fancied 
you were going to ask me for money to go traveling, in 
order to study naval architecture in the workshops of Eng- 
land and America. But, no ; the taste for running about 
the world is over. Young people have become terribly 
sensible now-a-days ! ” 

George blushed. 

‘‘I am not so sensible as you suppose. Captain Kemuz,” 
he said, with some emotion, lifting up his head with a 
frank, boyish smile, which would have touched the heart 
of a father. 

“ How so ? Tell me your follies, my lad.” 

The encouraging air of Captain Kemuz afforded 
George Gosselin no encouragement. He saw that the 
old sailor, not wishing to wind up by a rough refusal 
or a positive promise, was amusing himself by his embar- 
rassment. But George was as frank as a young hero. 
He therefore quietly owned his ardent passion for Berthe 
Mauroy, protesting at the same time to Captain Kemuz 
that, if M. Mauroy had not spoken of the son of the old 
ship-owner of Bordeaux, he would never have thought 
of making any claim to partnership in virtue of the affec- 
tion to which all his life would now be consecrated. 

“So it is not exactly an affair of a loan, or an es- 
pecial partnership ? ” said Captain Kemuz, laughing ; 
“it is a marriage portion you are after.” 

“ Give what name you like to your share in the partner- 
ship, captain. But I assure you, sir, in the name of your 
friend, my father, that you can never serve a better cause, 
nor oblige a man who will be more grateful to you.” 

The tone of these words touched the captain. Under 
the gray bristles of his bushy eyebrows he looked full at 
George. A waft of warm air passing between them at 


30 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


the moment reminded him of a sudden of his parting at 
Saigon from Captain Gosselin, and of the sad tones in 
which George’s father had answered him when he asked 
what message he had for his wife and son. 

Though he was certainly not sentimental from educa- 
tion or from temperament, Kemuz — like all men accus- 
tomed to long periods of loneliness, long days and longer 
nights passed between the infinite stretch of the sky and 
the vast sweep of the unknown ocean — had tender feel- 
ings easily aroused. 

“My lad,” he said, changing his tone and becoming 
suddenly serious, “ if your own father were here, he would 
most likely tell you that you are over-young for marriage ; 
that you have not sufficiently enjoyed your youth to need 
repose ; and that dreams of rest too early indulged in are 
apt to lead us later to a life of fruitless restlessness ; un- 
less a man gets tired, some fine day, of always wanting to 
be free, and brings up — no matter where.” 

“ I do not think,” said George, “ that my father, if he 
were here to hear me, would disapprove. Poor father ! he 
has been away from us so long ; but I recollect his last 
words to me. He said, with tears in his eyes, ‘ Boy, make 
haste to grow up a man ! ’ I am following out his wishes, 
as I think, in desiring to undertake all the responsibilities 
of useful manhood.” 

“ That may be,” replied Captain Kernuz, much struck 
by these last words of Captain Gosselin to his son, which 
appeared very like the message given to himself, but at 
the same time bewildered by the various impressions his 
recollections of the captain roused. “ It is possible. There 
are many things I do not know about. And as I am not 
your father, I have not the clear outlook which belongs to 
the instinct of paternity. Speak to your mother. She will 


CAPTAIN KERNUZ 


31 


tell you what she thinks upon this matter. We will talk 
it over again when I have seen La Belle Cleopatre make 
her courtesy, without tripping, to the He Saint Michel. Till 
then, my lad, don’t let us make each other uncomfortable 
by any further discussion of the matter.” 

George wanted to say more, hut the captain got up 
from his seat and made ready to walk round his garden, 
lighting his pipe again with a decided air, as if he did not 
wish any further interruption to the delicate and absorbing 
occupation of consuming leisurely, and without pause — 
without puffing too strongly or drawing in too mildly — 
that especial store of tobacco he had brought home for his 
own use, and which he loved to smoke by himself, for 
himself, and with himself alone. 

George did not consider himself defeated. At all events. 
Captain Kernuz had not refused him. The captain was 
waiting for the launch of the Cleopatre. The young engi- 
neer felt so certain of the success of the schooner, so proud 
of having contributed to the practicaLapplication of a the- 
ory which he felt would eventually create a revolution in 
naval construction, that, by a touching inconsistency not 
uncommon to youth, he was hurt and annoyed that his 
love-affairs were considered of less importance than his 
partnership ; and that his duty — or, rather, his happiness 
— which appeared to him sublime, was held secondary in 
his friend’s eyes to his pecuniary advantage. 

He left the captain to go and speak to Madame Gosse- 
lin ; and as he went up the stairs which led him to her 
chamber, he said to himself : 

‘‘ M. Pleumeur and Captain Kernuz are two practical 
men. The one understands every-day life, the other that 
which is highly intellectual. How is it that these two men, 
differing about almost everything else, agree in blaming 


32 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


me, and in wanting to curb the purest and most ennobling 
feeling that the heart of man can contain ? Captain Ker- 
nuz’s wealth and M. Pleumeur’s knowledge are like two 
separate lovers. If each will lend me — one his gold, the 
other his information — I shall be able to move a little the 
soil and stones on which I tread. But, ah ! I feel, what- 
ever they may say, that, if they would but heed me, with 
my love I could put wings to matter and upheave the 
world ! ” 

So was it that poetry, which never loses her rights 
over all who dwell below the firmament, flourished, upon a 
balmy summer night, in the heart of a young student, who 
fancied he had learned mathematics enough to be freed 
from any taste for written poetry, but who had not yet 
learned to be indifferent to its throbs in his own soul. 


CHAPTER III. 

MADAME GOSSELIN. 

Madame Gosselin generally staid in her own room 
the greater part of each day — unless she was at church. 
She did a great deal of knitting- work ; she read a little 
in her prayer-book ; and between whiles told her beads, 
which seemed her one amusement and recreation. 

As she murmured over the accustomed fonnulas, 
making her rosary-beads glide slowly through her fin- 
gers, and kissing at regular intervals particular beads, 
Madame Gosselin passed into an inner or celestial state of 
existence, in which she dwelt apart, and the real world 
around her disappeared. 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


33 


She was never surprised by others in one of those mo- 
ments of intense devotion. She always bolted her door 
before she took out her rosary. She flung a modest veil 
over her moments of ecstasy. 

“ Modest ” is not too strong a word — for in those mo- 
ments it was as if she partly stripped some covering from 
her soul ; and at such times she became almost beautiful, 
or, rather, she resumed her natural loveliness. 

Her eyes had a strange gleam. Her small and well- 
cut mouth, cold at all other times, trembled beneath a 
breath of life which seemed to animate the porcelain of 
her features. 

Some preternatural and intense emotion spread mys- 
teriously over her whole being, and betrayed a passionate 
nature, unsubdued by the almost ascetic discipline of the 
outward life she led. Madame Gosselin was tall, and ap- 
peared thin merely because the delicate outlines of her 
fonn were always draped in loose, wide garments, fash- 
ioned apparently in imitation of the vestments of a nun. 
She might have been taken for past fifty by any observer 
who, led astray by the smooth bands of hair drawn tight- 
ly over her temples, and her cap with long strings like 
that of an English widow, did not notice the absence of 
all wrinkles on her pale face, with its perpetual, fixed 
smile. 

Madame Gosselin was really only forty-five years old. 
Early married to a merchant captain, who, a few years 
after their marriage, went on a long voyage and never had 
come home — ^left utterly alone but for the society of her 
child — she had ever since, either from devotion, duty, or 
some other motive, shut herself up in a dull routine of 
monotonous regularity ; nor even had she ever at Nantes, 
Lorient, or Kerantrec become, or endeavored to become. 


34 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


a woman venerated for her practices of devotion, or be- 
loved for the amiability of her behavior. 

To vulgar eyes she was simply insignificant. Nor 
would a casual ohseiwer have paid much attention to her 
looks, as she passed along the streets, her hands crossed 
upon her breast, walking straight forward, looking hardly 
ten yards before her, observing nobody, bowing, when 
necessary, by a mere sweep of the head which seemed hard- 
ly voluntary, or smiling feebly, as people often smile when 
smiling is an effect that politeness imposes upon sorrow. 
Had any person ever given himself the trouble to under- 
stand those irreproachably calm features ? Had any per- 
son ever sought, by a keen, searching glance, to see what 
lay beneath the varnish so carefully put on, and exhaling 
a sort of weariness around her ? 

It was easy enough to perceive without much observa- 
tion that there was no active kindliness under her placid 
exterior. It might have been also suspected that the 
strong spring of a strong will lay concealed under this 
life of system and repression. 

Was M. Pleumeur, who never spoke to Madame Gos- 
selin, this keen observer? If he had ever noticed any 
flush of life under her calm exterior, he never mentioned 
having made such a discovery. It almost seemed that, 
man of marble as he was, he was afraid of coming in con- 
tact with this porcelain creature, so cold and ceremonious 
was their intercourse whenever he accosted her. 

We know Pornic’s opinion of Madame Gosselin. Cap- 
tain Kernuz never revealed his. Several times he had 
been tempted to get angry, and, in a fit of passion, give a 
rude jar to this irreproachable, impeccable creature. But 
as soon as he attempted to be rough with her, she put on 
so meek a manner, she appeared so self-possessed, she 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


35 


looked so surprised, she retired so artlessly into her dig- 
nity, she looked at him so reproachfully, she seemed so 
amazed at his abuse of hospitality, that he drew hack in 
confusion, and became amiable at once, for fear of appear- 
ing a brute to her. 

Nobody knew whether Madame Gosselin was a woman 
of ability — whether she observed or reasoned on what 
passed around her. She never said a word that might 
have been remembered, repeated, or appreciated. Some 
people thought her a born fool, but others held that her 
devotion had crushed all the sense out of her. She could 
be keen enough, however, when she liked. When George 
told her about his labors and his plans, she listened with 
no feigned attention, and sometimes ventured observa- 
tions upon what he said with a clear-sightedness which was 
not purely the result of accidental inspiration. 

The relations between mother and son were tender, but 
not demonstrative. Whenever George, pleased at some 
stroke of luck, or anxious about some difficulty, tried to 
kiss his mother with more tenderness -than usual, hoping 
to get a fresh impulse from the caress, she always drew 
back from him, as if her cloistral modesty could not per- 
mit any passionate demonstrations even from her son. 

Such was the woman whom Pornic called a ghost — of 
whom Captain Kernuz knew not what to think, and who, 
without dislikes, preferences, attractions, or prejudices, 
but indifferent herself, and inspiring indifference in others, 
moved through the various lives recorded in this book in 
a state of moral somnambulism. 

George found his mother just finishing a long piece of 
knitting-work, at the very moment, probably, when she 
was about to shut herself up to enjoy her dose of opium — 
in other words, the ecstasy of telling her beads. 


36 


MADAME G088ELIK 


“ How early you are to-day ! ” she said. George 
imprinted a kiss upon his mother’s forehead, then, sitting 
do^Ti familiarly beside her, said, abruptly : 

“ Mother, do you think I am wrong to love Mademoi- 
selle Berthe Mauroy, and to want to marry her ? ” 

Madame Gosselin was very much surprised by this 
question, and its tone ; she started, and began to get up 
from her chair. Her son’s hand was at once laid upon 
hers, and he detained her. She looked at him with a 
glance of anxiety. 

What ! ” she said, “ do you love the daughter of 
you employer ? ” 

“ Yes, mother,” was the simple answer. 

‘‘ Are you quite sure you love her ? ” 

“ Certainly I am ! ” cried George, eagerly. “ I should 
die if I feared I should never be loved in return. I should 
kill myself, I think, if I knew she loved another.” 

A gleam passed over the pale cheeks of Madame Gos- 
selin, and gave birth to a smile, either of assent or of 
alarm. But she kept silent. 

“You do not answer ?” resumed George. 

“ Why do you come and tell me about it now ? ” his 
mother replied. “ Did you ask my advice before falling 
in love with her ? ” 

“ I did not know myself that constantly seeing Made- 
moiselle Mauroy would bewitch me, enchant me, and throw 
a spell over my whole being. What could I have con- 
sulted you about ? I did not take counsel with myself. 
I was in love before I knew it. And, mother, that seems 
to me the only right way.” 

A paleness, varied by faint streaks of light, like a gray 
dawn lit up by torches that attendants have forgotten to 
extinguish after a revel, spread for a moment over the 
face of Madame Gosselin. 


i 


MADAME GOS^ELIN. 37 

“ There is no right way to fall in love,” she said, in a 
low, hard tone. 

“You talk just as M. Pleumeur talks!” exclaimed 
George, with a slight movement of his shoulders. “ Can 
I find no one to understand me ? ” 

“ Did your master blame you ? ” 

“Yes ; and Captain Kernuz almost made fun of me.” 

“ They were both right, my son.” 

“ No, they were not, mother. They did not change my 
views, and they made me doubt the wisdom of their own.” 

“ Must I approve of this, on pain of losing your confi- 
dence ? ” 

“ I defy you to believe me really in the wi'ong.” 

“ And yet — ” 

“ I see Captain Kemuz knew what he was about when 
he told me to ask you.” 

“ Ah ! he sent you ? ” 

Madame Gosselin, as her son spoke, had fully opened 
her eyes, and they seemed to grow larger with astonish- 
ment and a sort of vague terror. Then she said : 

“ Why did you consult Captain Kemuz about this ? ” 

George here explained to his mother how the question 
of money had been mixed up with warmer feelings. As 
Madame Gosselin understood him, she nodded her head 
slowly, and said : 

“ Captain Kemuz will give you that money.” 

“ Do you really think he will ? ” 

“ I am quite sure of it, if your ship succeeds.” 

“ She cannot help it, mother.” 

“ Captain Kemuz is always glad of an occasion that 
may flatter his vanity.” 

“ Ah, dear, kind man ! How happy he will make 
me!” 


38 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


The impetuous young man here seized his mother by 
both hands, as if trying to make her enter into all his hopes, 
and he dragged into the whirl of joy and happiness that 
seemed to lie before him. 

“Ah, if you only knew,” he cried, “how good, and 
brave, and pretty Mademoiselle Berthe Mauroy is ! ” 

“ I saw her at the church of Kerantrec on our last f^te- 
day ; but while service went on, I did not like to look 
much at her.” 

“ You might have looked at Aer, mother, without injury 
to your devotions, especially at church ; for all her vir- 
tues must shine brightest when she is engaged in prayer.” 

“ That may be so ; but do you know if she cares for 
you ? ” 

“ I have not yet asked her in so many words ; but it 
seems to me that if she di d not like me she would be less 
ready to talk to me ; for she must know that every word 
she says sinks into my heart like a living flame.” 

“ She may be a flirt.” 

“ Oh, no ! I assure you she is not, mother.” 

“ How do you know ? ” 

“ Because I hold that a taste for coquetry in a woman 
may be always felt, and observed.” 

Another gleam passed over the lips and cheeks of 
George’s mother. 

“You are very young to marry,” she said, at length. 

“ Am I not just the age my father was when he mar- 
ried you ? ” 

“Exactly. You are too young.” 

A sigh emphasized these words. George thought his 
mother was alluding to the long absence of Captain 
Gosselin. 

He resumed : 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


39 


“ I shall not have to leave my wife for years. It must 
have been a hard trial for my poor father ! ” 

“ Who told you that ? ” asked Madame Gosselin, sharp- 
ly, and with a strange look in her eyes — a contraction of 
the pupils which made them seem like mere black dots 
in the brown eyes. 

“ He must have suffered ; for he loved you, and you 
loved him, in spite of all these separations.” 

“ Who told you all that ? Was it Captain Kemuz ? ” 

«Ho.” 

“ At any rate, you see,” resumed Madame Gosselin, with 
less logic than persistency, “ that the truest love is pro- 
ductive of unhappiness.” 

“ Ho, mother ; it is a trial. I am not afraid of it.” 

“ So all young people fancy at your age.” 

“ And at yours, mother, people are proofs of the great 
blessedness of loving.” 

“ Do you mean me ? ” 

Madame Gosselin pushed back her chair, and thrust 
from her, with a sort of horror, the hand of her son. 

‘‘Were you not as devoted to my father as you were to 
me in my boyhood ? Have you not borne without a mur- 
mur the anxieties of his long voyages ? ” 

“ I have suffered deeply, it is true,” Madame Gosselin 
could not help replying, with a sigh which startled him. 

“ But you have conquered all your griefs ; religion has 
supported you. Don’t try, mother, to discourage me from 
winning a happiness which will have no such trials, for I 
shall never have to leave my wife and home — ” 

“ There are great gulfs that often separate even those 
who live together,” whispered Madame Gosselin, hoarsely. 

“ Great gulfs ? Do you mean sudden misfortunes made 
by the deceits of the world, the discouragements of sci- 


40 


MADAME GOSSELIX, 


ence, domestic griefs, reverses of fortune ? If gulfs like 
these do open at our feet, we will hide them under little 
cradles, or go down into them deliberately, both together, 
hand in hand. No, mother ; suffering is not suffering when 
chared with one we love ; it is not misery to be struck 
by the same blow at the same moment. If Berthe Mauroy 
ever is my wife, let my future be what it may, I defy it 
to conquer me. I will meet it with the philosophy I have 
acquired from niy tutor, and with the tenderness I have 
inherited from you.” 

While her son was thus speaking, and with a toss of 
his head indicative of eager courage and ingenuous pride, 
exhibiting the ardor of his passion, Madame Gosselin sat 
looking down, growing so pale that she seemed likely to 
faint. 

“ That is dreaming,” she whispered. 

“ A dream ! What ! duty, honor, confidence, and faith, 
a dream? Dear mother, you do not think it. You are 
too good a woman, and too earnest a Christian, for that ! ” 

“Yes,” she replied, with an emotion that she tried in 
vain to conquer, and which gave a sort of modulation to 
her words ; “ yes, it ought to be so ; I know it. But I 
know also that holy and pure intentions are oftentimes 
misunderstood in this world ; then they turn into bitter- 
ness ; then they ferment ; they lead to dreadful fevers, in 
which the patient does not always die, although he al- 
ways wishes to.” 

So speaking, but desiring at the same time to convince 
her son that these opinions were only drawn from general 
observation, she ventured to look him in the face, and 
tried to smile. 

“ I want you to give me your approval, mother,” per- 
sisted George. 


MADAME G0S8ELIN. 


41 


“ What good will it do you ? ” said Madame Gosselin. 
“ I have no marriage portion to bestow on you. I can do 
nothing to promote your happiness.” 

“You must share it when it comes.” 

“ My present existence is my part in life. I made it 
for myself ; I cannot change it now.” 

She pointed to her knitting and her rosary-beads. 

“ Till he comes back who has been too long away,” 
continued George, sadly, “you must let us make you a 
home. You must live with your children, mother.” 

“ If Captain Kernuz gives you that money, he will 
want you to live where he can have the pleasure of see- 
ing that you are duly grateful to him every hour of the 
day.” 

There was a bitterness in these deliberate words. 

“You are unjust toward Captain Kernuz, mother,” 
said George, lowering his voice. 

“ Unjust ! when I foresee plainly the good he is able 
to do you — and is going to do ? ” 

“ I am always afraid, mother, that we are not grateful 
enough for his many kindnesses.” 

“ I never asked him for any.” 

“ True ; hut we accept them.” 

“ He came and told me it was Captain Gosselin’s wish 
that we should live here, and I came. I took the place 
that was assigned me. I have never attempted to take 
any other.” 

The veiled and shrouded woman, who had lived through 
some mysterious past — the mother, troubled by a vague 
anxiety about her son — here ceased to speak ; these had 
both glided out of sight into an inner shrine, and would 
come forth no more. The victim of religious bigotry, 
sordid, rancorous, meek, but implacable, drawing in her 


42 


MADAME G08SELIN. 


elbows, knitting webs of scandal, recovered the coolness 
she had lost for a moment as a mother and a woman. 

George understood these symptoms, with which, in- 
deed, he had been long familiar. Without blaming his 
mother, but attributing her sudden extinction of kindli- 
ness to abrupt reactions from the maternal and wifely 
heroism in which she had never failed, he knew from ex- 
perience that nothing could be got out of her when she 
grew impatient to be left alone with her rosary. 

He saw her looking anxiously toward that companion 
of her devotion. He got up to go away, but he wanted 
to depart a conqueror. 

“When you get a daughter, mother,” he said, in a 
clear voice, which seemed a little forced in order to be 
gay, “ you will have to give longer holidays to your knit- 
ting and your rosary.” 

“ A daughter ! I shall never have a daughter ! But 
if I ever have a daughter-in-law, my son, I hope she will 
love labor, and be faithful to the practices of her religion.” 

“ Of course she will, mother.” 

“It is not right to jest at certain things. You are 
quite well aAvare I owe my strength and patience to my 
beads and to my knitting.” 

She said this in a tone at once timid, pleading, and 
commanding. Madame Gosselin did not wish to continue 
the struggle, or the discussion. She was weaiy of playing 
a part before her son. 

When George left the room, she went after him to the 
door, bolted it, and came back to her chair again ; then — 
for her need of her habitual formula of devotion was very 
great — she knelt down, took up her beads, and recited her 
prayers with fervency, eagerly drinking in her words. 
When she had done, she rose slowly, and stood motionless 


MADAME GOSSELIJV, 


43 


for several minutes, looking at herself, apparently endeav- 
oring to feel and observe within herself the effect of that 
sedative which seldom failed her. 

This time, however, it was very slow to operate. Ma- 
dame Gosselin was very nervous ; her nervousness showed 
itself by the trembling of her fingers. She walked partly 
across her room, and said, with a sort of naive anxiety, in 
a low voice : 

‘‘ What will become of me if my beads should fail me ? ” 

She stopped before her little work-table, on which lay 
her beads beside her knitting-needles, and, picking up the 
former, said : 

‘‘ I will have them blessed over again. If I must go 
on a pilgrimage, I will. M. le Cure will tell me again I 
have no faith. Faith ! ” She repeated the word several 
times, changing its expression every time by the pressure 
of her lips. 

“ Faith ! ” she said at last. “ hTo, I have faith no 
longer. Can any one retain faith who has passed through 
all that I have done? Did I ever have faith? Yet, 
twenty-five years ago, I did believe — I did. Ah ! yes, I 
believed earnestly — I believed too much. I had faith 
in love ! ” 

She laughed out wildly. Did Madame Gosselin have 
little attacks of insanity, of which she was conscious, and 
which she carefully concealed from others ? 

She placed herself, still trembling from the effects of 
her strange laughter, before the mirror in the bureau of 
her chamber, and looked at herself earnestly, 

‘‘Everybody thinks me an old woman,” murmured 
she, “ but it is I who have made myself old. I am still 
young. Ah, if I were like those women who seek ad- 
miration ! ” 


44 


MADAME GOSSELIM, 


As she spoke she took off her cap, with its long strings ; 
her luxuriant black hair appeared in all its glossy bright- 
ness. She raised, with her white fingers, the stiff braids 
plastered down upon her temple, puffed them out, smoothed 
her forehead, smiled at her own image, and was charmed 
by her own smile. Thus encouraged, she threw open her 
muslin neckerchief, fastened by a pin close at her throat, 
and, stepping back, threw herself into various attitudes, to 
show herself off to advantage. She admired herself ; she 
felt that she was beautiful. 

Madame Gosselin was quite right in this opinion. 

She was very beautiful, as she stood enjoying in secret 
the sight of her real loveliness. Her eyes had recovered 
their brightness. Her mouth was larger, redder, and half 
opened. Madame Gosselin knew she could still be charm- 
ing — that she still retained her power over the hearts of 
men. 

If I chose,” she thought, “ this Captain Kemuz, who 
does not know whether to like me or detest me — if I 
chose to try to charm him, I could be supreme in this very 
household. Nothing hinders me but my own will — and 
George.” 

The thought of her son troubled her. She gave a lit- 
tle shiver. She fastened up her neckerchief. She wet 
her long fingers in water, and passed them over her braids 
of hair, to smooth and stiffen them. She put on her cap 
again, and said : 

“ What a fool I am ! — a poor, old woman ! How any 
one would laugh at me ! I ought to die of shame. Yes, 
I know I am old, but not old enough to have acquired 
rest, peace, and oblivion — oblivion ! ” 

She paused upon this word, sighed, and, approaching 
the open window, rested her arms on it, looking earnestly 


BERTHE MAUROY. 


45 


into the distance, but seeing nothing, though her eyes 
were fixed upon the downs along the edge of the river 
Scorff, in the direction of the little house inhabited by 
M. Pleumeur. 


CHAPTER IV. 

BERTHE MAUROY. 

The next morning, George Gosselin, who had scarcely 
slept all night, started early for the ship-yards of M. 
Mauroy. 

He had been thinking over the situation, and he now 
resolved to fix all his hopes upon the launch of La Belle 
Cleopatre, provided he could discover from Berthe Mau- 
roy herself that she was interested in the success of his 
schooner. 

Then came the sudden thought : Suppose that, after 
all, his invention did not answer? Generally he cared 
nothing for the gibes of Captain Kemuz, but this day 
they seemed intolerable. 

Often the most liberal minds, on the eve of an impor- 
tant enterprise, begin to experience, without exactly giving 
way to superstitious feeling, a sort of influence which they 
dread — a kind of closing in upon them of the common- 
place, the mysterious pressure of vulgar general opinion. 

George found himself, this morning, wishing that he 
might call Captain Kernuz away from Lorient on the day 
of the launch of the new schooner. He dreaded to hear 
the captain’s mocking laugh, paralyzing all the efforts of 
the work-people, and making the little ship refuse to glide 


46 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


off into tlie stream, when the right moment came for her 
to descend gracefully into the water. 

“ Oh, what a glorious day might that day be ! ” he 
thought; “ but how dreadful if anything should go amiss ! ” 

In the tumult of his thoughts George ceased to desire 
a smooth sea and a bright sky. He said to himself, the 
first experiment would be more satisfactory if it took 
place in foul weather, and with a heavy swell. The stead- 
iness communicated to the schooner by her double keel, 
would be best tested in rough whether ; and if the calcu- 
lations of science had been wrong — if she were only made 
more heavy, without being more substantial by the im- 
provement — self-deception would be sooner at an end. He 
himself would be on board ; perhaps she would go down 
to the bottom at once, and hide him forever with his shame 
and disappointment. A young man at twenty-four, with 
his heart full of a strong passion, hot blood in all his veins, 
and every kind of project in his brains, upborne and 
floated as by the sweep of wings, looks with light heroism 
on what he calls despair. 

George, carrying his hat in his hand, the sea-breeze 
blowing through his curls, walked fast along the river 
road, which is not the nearest way from Kerantrec to 
Lorient ; but it was the one he always took, because it 
brought him quickest to his ship-yard. For he always 
walked at a good pace, and if he did not stop at M. Pleu- 
meur’s, he was certain to meet no other detention on the 
road. 

This morning M. Pleumeur was waiting for him. He 
did not stop his friend, but, after shaking hands with him, 
turned and walked beside him along the road. M. Pleu- 
meur was as cold as he had been the night before, and, 
without any appearance of strong feeling, asked : 


BERTHE MAUROY. 


47 


“Were you satisfied with your interview with Captain 
Kemuz ? ” 

“ He did not refuse me ; but he would not promise. 
He intends to wait.” 

“ He will not wait long.” 

“Are you quite sure we shall succeed, M. Pleumeur?” 

“ I am quite certain.” 

“ You remember how carefully we calculated be- 
fore we decided on the proportions of the schooner. 
Perhaps we had better have put in lighter keels, as we 
thought of doing at first, and so have made her draw less 
water.” 

“Cm- first ideas were wrong. I proved them so to 
you.” 

“ But ever since yesterday my mind is full of doubts. 
Just think : last night, as I was thinking about La Belle 
Cleopatre, I all of a sudden began fancying that the 
weight of the screw might strain the timbers, and that 
the first big wave she met might break her back. It was 
pure nervousness.” 

M. Pleumeur only answered : 

“ Next time we can build a vessel with a fixed screw, 
and compare them together.” 

“ I wonder, cher maitre^ if, when Normand and Bas, at 
Havre, launched the first French vessel with a screw, they 
had as many anxieties about her as I have about our 
schooner ? At the moment of the launch I know I shall 
want to squeeze your hand in mine, and feel your courage 
fortifying my own presumption.” 

“ I shall have no excuse for being there.” 

“ No excuse for being there ! You — my master ? If 
M. Mauroy did you justice, your name ought to be asso- 
ciated with his own in this matter.” 


48 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


And with yours ? ” said M. Pleumeur, without any 
irony in his words. 

“With mine — yes,” replied George. “M. Mauroy 
knows well enough what we both owe you.” 

“ M. Mauroy owes me nothing. He has always paid 
me punctually. I have nothing against him.” 

“ Ah, wait until I become his partner ! ” 

“Eh ! You have more hope, then, than you had last 
evening ? ” 

“ Captain Kernuz did not refuse me. My mother en- 
couraged me ; and, now that you assure me we have noth- 
ing to fear as to the schooner — ” 

“I cannot blame you for strongly wishing, nor for 
strongly believing in your power, to attain your object. 
An iron will is a force whose might has never been deter- 
mined. Have that strong will, my boy, and with it you 
may accomplish anything ! ” 

“Anything?” 

“Yes ; especially as men generally set their own ends 
before them, and place them at so safe a distance that 
there is reasonable hope of their being attained.” 

George accepted this prophecy with a smile, without 
observing its hidden sarcasm. 

His love was very great — ^his desire to be loved was 
very eager. Yet he stopped short in the selfishness of 
his delight, and said : 

“ Excuse me, mon cher maitre^'‘ and, as he spoke, he 
paused, and made a motion with his hand as if inviting 
fuller confidence and trust from M. Pleumeur. “ I fear I 
may be impertinent in my solicitude, but my motive is 
pure love for you. How happens it that you, who have 
certainly an iron will, and who have at its command such 
stores of information, have never — ” 


BERTHE MAUROY. 


49 


George hesitated. 

“You want to know why I am nobody, and have done 
nothing ? ” said M. Pleumeur, in his calm, cold tones. 
‘‘ Possibly because I will neither to be, nor to become, of 
any importance. I have always had great pleasm*e in 
studying and teaching. I told you yesterday, perhaps 
rather too bitterly, that no end in life is worthy to be 
made the subject of our dreams. You will find that I am 
right, some of these days.” 

‘‘ Then you have never been disappointed ? ” 

“ In the way you mean — no, George ! I have always 
asked of life only what I knew that life could give me. 
On the other hand, I have possessed myself of things that 
fools might have refused me. And when the fruit I 
gathered turned to ashes, I have never been astonished. 
I did not expect it to refresh or satisfy me.” 

‘‘ What a pity you have no ambition ! ” 

‘‘ My ambition is to be able to dispense with all ambi- 
tion. Look ! ” he added, stopping short, and pointing to a 
flock of birds across the river, “ do you see those gulls ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

‘‘ I am quite sure that, if I had my gun with me, I 
could kill them, every one. I would not miss a single 
one of them, notwithstanding the distance, and their be- 
ing on the wing.” 

“ Are you a sportsman, M. Pleumeur ? ” 

“ I sometimes shoot, to keep myself in practice. I 
never miss my aim.” 

“ I never saw you with a gun.” 

“ Why should you ? What game do I care to kill ? 
My gun is simply one of my mathematical instruments. 
I may want it, some day, to calculate a bullet’s range ; but 
I have no more wish to bring down the birds now soaring 
3 


50 


MADAME G0S8ELIN. 


over us, than I have to get at the honors and advantages 
which fly as high above my walk in life, but which, per- 
haps, I could attain, too, if I desired them.” 

‘‘ So I told Captain Kemuz ! I said you were a phi- 
losopher.” 

“Were you talking about me to Captain Kernuz?” 

“ Don’t I talk about you to everybody ? ” 

“ How tired everybody must be, then, of hearing you 
on that subject ! ” 

“ Ho, monsiem’. I tell every one how proud I am that 
I have been your pupil — how much I love you.” 

M. Pleumeur stopped again, either to protest against 
this compliment, or to enjoy it thoroughly. He remained 
for a moment motionless, with his eyes closed, letting the 
sweet words slowly flltrate through him, and then walked 
on again, saying : 

“ Captain Kemuz hates me.” 

“ Who told you so ? ” 

“ I feel it — I know it. He is right. He follows his 
own instincts, and, in doing the same by him, I logically 
follow out mine.” 

A long silence succeeded this declaration. M. Pleu- 
meur walked on with his pupil till they reached the out- 
skirts of Lorient. There they separated, George going 
straight into the workshops of M. Mauroy, while M. 
Pleumeur took his way to the Tinguy academy to give 
his daily lesson. 

M. Mauroy was very proud of La Belle Cleopatre, and 
expected to be more proud of her still when that queen 
of schooners should have made her successful dk,hut on 
the ocean. 

He had not the least idea that her name was that of a 
princess fatal to the greatest conquerors — a queen who had 


BERTHE MAUROY. 


51 


incited the bloodiest civil war in history, and who had 
taken a prominent share in the greatest naval maritime 
disaster of ancient times. 

He had never read Calpren^de’s novel about her ; nor 
Jodelle on the same subject ; nor, in 1847, had he seen 
Madame ^mile de Girardin’s tragedy. All he knew about 
Cleopatra was that she was a marvelously beautiful queen 
of the Orient, and that any play upon that word is always 
agreeable to the inhabitants of the Breton town of Lorient. 
The loveliest queen of the Orient would be sure, he thought, 
to bring good luck to the most enterprising ship-builder 
of her namesake city. 

So he adopted the name in good faith — indeed, was 
very much delighted with it, and gave himself great cred- 
it for inventing it. He had no suspicion that the solemn 
man with the threadbare coat, who was constantly work- 
ing with George Gosselin, and audited the accounts of the 
firm, had suggested this name out of irony, for his own 
satisfaction and amusement ; either as a kind of defiance 
to bad luck, or in memory of some fatal siren, as puissant 
over strength of will as the great Queen of Egypt, and as 
treacherous as the unstable sea. 

M. Mauroy remembered to have seen the name over a 
perfumer’s door in Paris, with a picture representing a 
magnificent woman being dressed, or rather adorned (for 
she had nothing on), with diamonds and other jewelry. Be- 
fore her lay all kinds of treasures (especially a basket of 
ripe fruits), and slaves from the four quarters of the globe 
were bringing her tribute. The painter (a man who did 
not concern himself much about antiquity) had ventured 
on the anachronism of introducing Mexican slaves into a 
sign-board representing Cleopatra; thinking, perhaps, that, 
if Mark Antony had not discovered the New World, in 


52 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


order to lay it at tlie feet of his enchantress, it was a flaw 
in his gallantry that might as well be repaired. 

The worthy ship-builder looked forward to the bril- 
liant career, the successful voyages, the splendid cargoes, 
of La Belle Cleopatre. He had even (though figure-heads 
were no longer in fashion) given the best wood-carver in 
Lorient an order to carve upon the hows of the vessel a 
plump, jolly, smiling female head and bust, which the old 
workmen in the dock-yard declared was the perfect image 
of the late Madame Mauroy — a hold assertion, certainly, 
which, nevertheless, was not unpleasing to their master, 
who had been a widower only three years. 

George Gosselin had exaggerated the power of self- 
interest over M. Mauroy, when he fancied that after his 
triumph he would be ready to give a share in his business 
and the hand of his daughter to the highest bidder. 
George also felt more anxiety than the state of the case 
warranted about the son of the Bordeaux ship-owner. 

The truth was, M. Mauroy had made up his mind to 
take the young engineer into partnership, having a high 
opinion of his talents. Had he also seen the looks that 
often passed between his daughter Berthe and young 
George Gosselin ? And had he feared lest mere ambition, 
without the stronger stimulus of love, would not he suifi- 
cient to nerve George to ask Captain Kemuz for the ne- 
cessary loan, or suggest his association in the business as 
special partner ? 

Captain Kemuz was equally mistaken when he be- 
lieved, or made believe that he believed, that M. Mauroy 
was actuated by astute covetousness. That gentleman’s 
fortune was entirely secure, and his credit above suspicion. 
But he wanted to increase the importance of his house ; 
and he very sensibly and very properly imagined that, with 


BERTHE MAUROY. 


53 


George Gosselin as his son-in-law and partner, with two 
hundred thousand francs advanced by Captain Kernuz, 
the firm might double its operations. 

Since I am letting the reader into all the secrets of M. 
Mauroy, it may be as well to add a slight allusion to the 
reports in circulation at Lorient and Kerantrec, which at- 
tributed the great interest Captain Kemuz took in George 
Gosselin to remorse for an error of his youth ; in other 
words, to a fatherly interest in the young man. 

When we mention these reports, it will be perceived 
how little the pious practices of Madame Gosselin had 
imposed on the unrefined classes of the community. 

Had M. Mauroy lent an ear to talk of this kind ? Had 
it an influence over him when he began to calculate on 
two hundred thousand francs from Captain Kemuz’s cof- 
fers? Was he satisfied beforehand to disregard the pre- 
judices and scruples of society, convinced that any money 
well employed in a great manufacturing establishment 
soon loses its bad reputation ? 

This is a little labyrinth of mystery that we need not 
endeavor to penetrate. Enough that M. Mauroy wished 
the very things George Gosselin wished, that M. Pleumeur 
wished, that Madame Gosselin in her heart wished ; to 
which Captain Kemuz offered no objection ; and which, 
to crown all, seemed far from displeasing to Mademoiselle 
Berthe. 

Berthe Mauroy was nineteen. She was pretty rather 
than handsome, and she was charmingly harmonious in 
form, face, and disposition, rather than correctly pretty. 
Those who gazed at her for the first time felt the attrac- 
tion of a sort of peaceful radiance that she shed around 
her, a light which never scorched or dazzled them. 

People smiled when they looked at her, in full confi- 


54 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


dence that she would smile hack to them again and say 
some pleasant word. Everybody always expressed ap- 
proval both of her and of her doings, and this general 
approval fell at last into a regular formula, always ap- 
plied to her : “ Berthe Mauroy is charming ! ” 

Her features were regular, but not so regular as to dis- 
courage love by demanding too much admiration. Her 
hair was black ; her eyes of that soft hazel which reflects 
warmth, and imbibes it. Her complexion was sufficiently 
colored to attest the calm, health-giving activity of her 
occupations ; and the sea-air had given to her brunette 
complexion (without adding any touch of roughness to 
her appearance) a sort of faint sun-burn which made it a 
little brown. 

Simple as to dress, cordial in her manners, accustomed 
since her mother’s death to keep house for her father, to 
talk to workmen, to receive visitors, she was never trou- 
bled by embarrassment, never placed at a disadvantage by 
childish timidity, and she never entangled herself in any 
false position by her straightforward words. She had at- 
tained naturally, partly because of her mother’s death, 
and partly because of her own resolute will, that proper 
and desirable liberty which French education rarely grants 
young ladies ; which foreign nations give them too un- 
guardedly, but which is, in due proportion, the guaran- 
tee for simple honesty and truth both before and after 
marriage. In it lies the foundation for true happiness and 
sound esteem, and, indeed, it may be said to be the sole 
guarantee and cause of true affection. 

George had made up his mind, if he met Mademoiselle 
Mauroy that day, to try to obtain something from her that 
might decide him. But how could he do this ? In what 
way, with deep earnestness and true respect, could he make 


BERTHE MAUEOr. 


55 


this charming girl — so simple, so confiding, so worthy of 
all precautions to preserve her simple-mindedness — under- 
stand and answer him ? 

It seems easy enough to say,*“ Mademoiselle, I love 
you ! ” — especially for one who has said those words over 
and over again in secret, in his day-dreams, in his sleep, 
in his walks, and at his daily labor. 

It seems as if the true-hearted young girl to whom 
one longs to say them could have no great difficulty in 
whispering, in reply, “ Monsieur, I love you ! ” She need 
not even put her feelings into words. A smile, a blush, 
a drooping of the eyelids — nay, less than that — mere 
silence, would suffice to answer him. 

But when it comes to uttering these simple words, their 
very simplicity overwhelms the lover with terror. He 
grows frightened as he cons over his confession, and con- 
siders it presumption. He tries some roundabout way to 
reach the point he aims at, which appears more worthy of 
its end ; he seeks superfluous eloquence, and ends by stam- 
mering forth his vows, and exhibiting extravagances of 
mauvaise honte, which are not the confusion of ignorance, 
but the embarrassment of juvenile precocity. 

As George went into the counting-room which led out 
on to the wharves, he cast a timid glance at a window on 
the ground-floor of the dwelling-house where Berthe Mau- 
roy usually sat early in the day, probably to watch the 
arrival of the workpeople. 

This morning the window was open as usual, but Ber- 
the’s place was empty. 

George gave a sigh of relief. He felt that his very 
bow that morning might have been embarrassed. He felt 
that he should not have dared to go up to the window, 
and yet that he could not have passed it without a word. 


56 


MADAME GOSSELm. 


Berthe’s absence gave him courage, and a better chance to 
prepare for what he had to say to her. 

He went toward his own room, therefore, with that 
nervous gayety which i§ the pa ira of cowards, humming 
an air as he opened the door of his office. All at once he 
stopped — amazed — discomfited. There sat Mademoiselle 
Berthe Mauroy, with her elbow on his desk, waiting for 
his coming. When she saw him she greeted him with a 
bright, welcoming smile — the most delicious, the most 
pure and heavenly that could be imagined. 

Berthe was dressed in a loose morning-gown made of 
light muslin, fastened round the waist with a sash tied in 
a bow, whence it fell in regular and graceful folds around 
her. No lady could have been more simply, yet more 
perfectly, attired. 

She seemed a faultless statuette of the young house- 
keeper ; and if our modern home-life were seeking a muse 
of housekeeping, nothing would have been wanted but a 
star on her bright hair (turned back a little from her fore- 
head), to bring out her ideality, and transform her into 
that undiscovered muse. 

After a moment’s pause of astonishment, George felt 
an impulse to cry aloud, to spring forward, to fall at the 
feet of her who appeared to him more charming, among 
the cold surroundings of his office, than he had ever be- 
fore seen her. His heart gave a great bound. But the 
smile that gave him this mad impulse likewise restrained 
him. With a sudden pang, he asked himself whether 
Berthe Mauroy loved him — if she ever could love him as 
he had hoped, since she ventured thus into his private 
office ? 

He bowed, and stammered : 

“ Mademoiselle, I did not expect — ” 


BERTHE MAUROY, 


57 


“To see me here?” said Berthe. “But I come in 
here every night and morning, after you go and before 
you come. I come in at night, when I make my grand 
round to be certain that you have not left a match or a 
lighted cigarette among your papers ; and every morning, 
to make sure that everything has been cleaned up proper- 
ly, and set to rights, without disturbing your drawings 
and papers. Perhaps you never noticed, monsieur, that 
you always find your washes, colors, boards, and instru- 
ments exactly in the places where you left them ? ” 

“No, mademoiselle; I never did notice it,” frankly 
replied George. 

“ Then it has been trouble lost,” said she. 

“But henceforth, mademoiselle, I shall never fail to 
observe — ” 

“Ah, monsieur, but I shall no longer make it my 
duty to look after them. However, it was not to receive 
your excuses or your thanks that I came here to see you. 
I want to speak to you, M. George.” 

George felt choked with emotion, though he concealed 
his feelings bravely, as he stepped up to his desk and 
leaned upon the other end of it, opposite to Berthe. 

“ Yes,” said the young girl, “I wanted to take counsel 
with you about something important.” 

“I am listening to you, mademoiselle, with all my 
soul,” he answered. 

Berthe was confused, not so much by the vivacity of 
her companion’s words as by the look with which he 
uttered them. She cast her eyelids down, as a protection 
against the ardor of his eyes, though she felt some of 
their warmth still. 

“ My father,” she resumed, “ is going to consult you 
about fixing the day for the launch of La Belle Cleopatre.” 


58 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


“ He intends to do so, I believe, mademoiselle.” 

“ He wishes — we both wish — that this occasion should 
be one of great rejoicing. I don’t mean only as to the 
ceremony which will take place in the ship-yards, the 
benediction, the presence of the city authorities, the ban- 
quet and ball given to the workmen ; but my father 
Avishes, after the first part of the solemnity is over, to 
assemble at a dinner-party at our house those persons who 
have most contributed to the success of the new schooner 
— for it will be a success, will it not, M. George ? ” 

Berthe looked up with her large, bright eyes, as she 
spoke, but cast them down again as her companion an- 
swered, eagerly : 

‘‘Yes, mademoiselle ; her success is certain.” 

“My father,” went on the young girl, “would like 
very much to ask Captain Kernuz to our dinner-party. 
Do you think that he would give us the pleasure of seeing 
him?” 

“ I think so, mademoiselle.” 

“Then a visit from my father would be well re- 
ceived ? ” 

“ Most undoubtedly.” 

Berthe gave a little smile. That first item of her busi- 
ness was settled. 

“We thought,” she resumed, “that madame votre 
m^re, though she so seldom goes out, would be willing to 
come to us on such an occasion ? ” 

“ Ah, mademoiselle, how sincerely I thank you ! ” 

“For what? Is it not quite natural that a mother 
should delight in sharing the success of her son ? ” 

George had an impulse to exclaim : “ Success ! Noth- 
ing will be success until I know you love me ! ” But 
he was afraid to utter this profession of devotion, lest it 


BERTHE MAVROY. 


59 


might be sacrilege ; so he only protested modestly by a 
motion of his hand. 

Berthe then went on : 

“ My father and I will call and invite Madame Gosse- 
lin.” 

“ She will be most happy to receive you.” 

‘‘ But that is not quite all,” continued Mademoiselle 
Mauroy. “ I thought you would like to have with you, on 
such a day, a person whom you greatly esteem — who I am 
sure you love — who gave you instruction and advice.” 

“ Is it possible, mademoiselle ! — you have thought of 
M. Pleumeur?” 

“ Naturally. He was your master, and your friend.” 

It may seem singular, and I cannot explain the mys- 
tery to those who do not understand it instinctively, that 
George, who had only felt flattered by the proposed invi- 
tations to Captain Kernuz and Madame Gosselin, was 
moved almost to tears by the thought that Berthe Mauroy 
had reserved a place at her table for his old tutor. 

“ Oh, thank you, mademoiselle ! ” he cried. “ How 
much I thank you ! ” 

“ This time I am willing to accept your thanks,” said 
Berthe, eagerly, ignoring the emotion of George Gosselin, 
and anxious not to let it communicate itself to her own 
manner, “ because I made my father agree to carry out 
my wishes. Not that he is unjust to M. Pleumeur, but 
he said that his gloomy countenance would damp the 
gayety of our dinner-party. I made him ashamed of 
being so selfish, when he is so happy a man ; and I am 
authorized to ask you if you think M. Pleumeur will ac- 
cept our invitation ? ” 

George Gosselin hesitated. He was not certain how to 
answer her. 


60 


MADAME G08SELIK 


‘‘ It will be more difficult to make him accept,” he 
said, thoughtfully, “ than Captain Kernuz.” 

“ Suppose you ask him yourself ? ” said Berthe. 

‘‘ Oh ! he sometimes says ‘ No ’ to mei” 

“ Suppose I join you in inviting him ? ” 

‘‘ You, mademoiselle ? ” 

George felt almost alarmed at the vision of this ray of 
grace and goodness entering the dreary abode of M. Pleu- 
meur. He remembered the sarcastic observations of his 
master upon women, and his contempt for love. For the 
first time a secret feeling of anger and revolt arose within 
him against the habitual skepticism of M. Pleumeur. 

“ Do you think that, if we went both together and in- 
vited him,” said Berthe, “ he could say, ‘ No ’ ? ” 

The adorable, frank way in which these precious words 
“ both ” and “ together ” fell from her lips, sent a thrill 
of hope into George Gosselin’s soul, and renewed the 
sense of happiness which was natural to him. He looked 
at Mademoiselle Mauroy with a glance so full of grati- 
tude, that Berthe, meeting his eyes, was compelled to cast 
down her own. 

Both were silent a brief moment ; and in that moment 
the embarrassment of self-consciousness, which had not 
before intruded into their interview, slipped in between 
them. And in that silence, without one word of love, with- 
out any mutual confession having passed between them, 
without any act upon the part of George or any coquetry 
upon the part of Berthe having hastened the confession, 
they understood, divined, accepted one another. Love 
chanted its triumphal hymn, and both together heard in 
their souls’ depths the voices divinely human that betrothed 
them to each other. 

That proposal of Mademoiselle Mauroy’s, that they 


BERTHE MAUROY. 


61 


should go “ both together ” and invite M. Fleumeur, had 
suddenly revealed to their imaginations and their hearts 
how charming such a task would be together. 

George gave no answer to Berthe’s last remark ; it no 
longer needed one. Who could doubt that, both together^ 
they would triumph over all obstacles — over M. Pleumeur 
and Captain Kemuz — over any fatal circumstances in the 
current of their own lives — over their own friends, if they 
opposed them ? 

Berthe was the most courageous. She was the first to 
speak, and added, smiling : 

“ My father will go with us ; but he will leave us to 
give the invitation.” 

George had to grasp tightly the edge of his desk and 
steady himself, to resist the impulse to seize Berthe’s 
hand and press it to his lips,* and fall upon his knees be- 
fore her. 

His perceptions were all alive that morning. He per- 
ceived that, by trying to amend her first proposal. Made- 
moiselle Mauroy showed that she had become conscious 
of its significance, and introduced her father’s name to 
qualify the tUe-drtUe. She thus avowed her sense of the 
importance of her admission, and joined her father with 
themselves, as if invoking his paternal sanction. 

George made no effort to express himself in touching 
or well-chosen words ; he simply said : 

Mademoiselle, why are you so kind and good ? ” 

‘‘ One would suppose you were astonished at my being 
so.” 

Politeness would have required George to answer 
No.” His heart obliged him to say “ Yes.” 

“Yes, mademoiselle; I dared not hope for so much 
kindness.” 


62 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


Berthe gave a little encouraging and saucy frown, 
which meant, “You do not dare enough, sir.” Then she 
went on : 

“ I have long admired your gratitude toward M. Pleu- 
meur. You think very highly of him ? ” 

“ Yes, mademoiselle. He has been the best of tutors 
to me ; and I think he would, if the occasion offered, be 
the most devoted and reliable of friends.” 

“ You think, but are not sure ? ” 

“ I have never, thus far, had occasion to ask any favor 
of M. Pleumeur. I must own he never gives me the op- 
portunity ; for he seems always looking out to do things 
that will please or serve me. Sometimes I fancy that his 
calm good sense and foresight removed obstacles be- 
forehand from my path. When La Belle Cleopatre is 
launched he will be the one to whom the triumph is due.” 

“ I guessed as much,” said Berthe ; “ but one must not 
say so.” 

“ Ho, especially to M. Pleumeur ; he would be annoyed 
by it.” 

“ Has he not had some great misfortune in his life ? 
He seems so sad,” said Berthe. 

“ I do not know. He has been a great student.” 

“But,” replied Berthe Mauroy, pressing her point, 
“ do you not also think he has some secret sorrow ? ” 

“ I do. I think M. Pleumeur has much more feeling 
than he is willing to exhibit to others ; but I have always 
failed when I have tried to soften him.” 

“Both together,” exclaimed Berthe, “we may per- 
haps — ” 

This time the generous young girl was betrayed into 
a second “ both together ” that she had not intended, but 
she made no attempt to take it back again. She stopped 


BERTHE MAUROY. 


63 


short in the middle of her remark, looking steadily at 
George with frank simplicity. She had allowed the light 
in her pure heart to gleam forth for a moment more bright- 
ly than she ought to haye done. George was dazzled. 
He made a step forward, and resolutely held out his hand. 

“Both together, mademoiselle, we may make many 
happy ; and doubtless may begin with M. Pleumeur.” 

“ I am sure of it,” replied Mademoiselle Mauroy, plac- 
ing her hand, without hesitation, in the hand which George 
held out to her. 

Their engagement was concluded. Vows were ex- 
changed, though words had not impaired the holy purity 
of this effusion of two child-like souls. 

“It is with a view of beginning now, George,” said 
Berthe, with a slight tremble in her voice which she no 
longer tried to conceal, “ that I want to have M. Pleumeur 
at our family dinner-party.” 

All Berthe’s tenderness, all her love, was in this speech. 
Her voice lingered over the syllables of the word “ fam- 
ily,” till a new brightness seemed to flash forth from the 
sound. 

George tried to press more warmly the hand that he 
retained in his, but, as he did so, let it fall. A sudden 
faintness, a thrill of joy darting through all his frame, 
appeared to paralyze him. Had it not been for the desk 
he leaned against, he would have fallen. 

Mademoiselle Mauroy felt no contempt, no pity for 
his weaknesss ; he admired it more than self-confidence or 
self-assertion. She looked at her young lover with that 
mysterious smile with which a brave soul recognizes a 
probable mission of protection in its life, and accepts it 
with a welcome. 

“Thank you, mademoiselle,” said George, and in his 


64 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


turn he put all his love into these words, as if he were 
offering his heart to her. 

Berthe was satisfied. The woman in her rose above 
the maiden, and, with an air of dignity, though tender 
still and full of charm, she bowed, and left the ofiice. It 
was the most charming and suitable thing she could have 
done ; it completed her fascination, it gave it its last touch, 
the touch supreme. 

George was not unwise enough to detain her. He 
drew back to let her pass, but his eyes followed her as she 
entered the court-yard. When she quitted the office, 
Mademoiselle Mauroy walked toward the ship-yard, per- 
haps because she felt scarcely willing to carry so much 
rapture to her own chamber, such dreams of hope and 
happiness into her maiden home. 

George, after walking to the door after her, closed it 
abruptly to retain in his own room the breath, the light, 
the charm that Berthe had left behind her. Then going 
wildly to his desk, he kissed over and over again the warm 
spot where Mademoiselle Mauroy’s elbow had rested when 
he first entered the room. 

He knew he should be left alone some moments longer. 
For some time past he had been in the habit of coming 
earlier than the clerks who worked under his orders. 

He walked about his office, stretching out his arms, 
drawing them back, feeling as if the framed drawings 
and plans hanging on the walls were garlands with flow- 
ers ; speaking out loud, devouring his happiness, uttering 
broken sounds, frolicking with his own madness, enjoying 
the intoxication of his passion, as a wild beast plays with 
its prey to prolong its enjoyment in what it loves. 

What a change from all the anxious feelings of the 
night before ! 


BERTEE MAUROT. 


65 


‘‘ Ah, I knew it — I knew it ! ” he cried, with an air of 
defiance and a menacing gesture, turning toward a water- 
color drawing of La Belle Cleopatre which hung against 
the wall of his counting-room. If he had thought he 
could fall in with M. Pleumeur by leaving the office, he 
would have hastened forth to find his friend, and, pouring 
out all the love that was boiling over in his bosom, try 
to extract one exclamation of true feeling from his lips, 
which might bring him hack to life again. 

As he could not, he thought over the visit to he made 
“ both together ” that very day to the stoic’s cottage, and 
rejoiced sincerely and beforehand (with a generosity which 
was an emanation from love’s selfishness) in the victory he 
felt sure that they would gain over the old philosopher. 

Captain Kernuz, he now felt sure, would readily come 
to an understanding with the rich ship-builder ; Madame 
Gosselin, he did not doubt, would be brought under the 
infiuence of Berthe’s charms ; and a great change might 
be wrought in her by having such a daughter. 

George worked but ill that day. But what need was 
there for labor ? When he had set his clerks to work, he 
went out to look at La Belle Cleopatre, proudly elevated 
on her stocks. He thought she looked all radiant, like a 
triumphant princess. How could he ever have thought 
that so beautiful a craft might not behave admirably in 
the water ? Was not the love of Berthe a direct blessing 
on his labors ? 

“ I was a fool to be unhappy ! ” he cried. 

No notion came to him that perhaps he was a greater 
fool for being now so confident and full of bliss. He was 
loading up his ship of life with smiles, and songs, and 
brightness, without asking himself whether she must not 
also he freighted with the cold looks of M. Pleumeur, the 


66 


MADAME GOJSSELm 


gibes and mockery of Captain Kernuz, and the unnatural 
behavior of his mother, who always seemed afraid to 
manifest any tenderness, for fear of being in some way 
fatal to his happiness and prosperity. 

Berthe’s smile had lighted up his whole horizon. He 
proudly associated his fortunes with those of La Belle 
Cleopatre, without any misgiving as to the bad omens con- 
nected with her name. 

That very day invitations were sent out for the launch, 
and M. Mauroy went in person to pay his visit to Captain 
Kernuz. Captain Kernuz received him with rather too 
broad a gayety, but promised to be present at the launch 
and at the dinner-party. Madame Gosselin resigned her- 
self to accept this mark of politeness from her son’s em- 
ployer. 

As to M. Pleumeur, far from refusing or resisting, he 
gave his pupil and Mademoiselle Berthe no opportunity to 
press him. At the first mention of the invitation he ac- 
cepted it ; so coldly, sternly, and curtly, that M. Mauroy 
began to regret that he had not refused, and felt himself 
annoyed, ruffled, and humiliated by the very little impres- 
sion a step so foreign to his habits seemed to have made 
on the unsocial mathematician. George only looked at 
the result. His master was to be present at the entertain- 
ment. Berthe’s sweet smile had worked a miracle, and the 
family dinner-party would be complete. 


LA BELLE CLEOPATRE. 


67 


CHAPTER V. 

LA BELLE CLEOPATEE. 

The looked-for day arrived ; and, like all days of its 
kind eagerly expected and looked forward to, it astonished 
every one by its sameness. 

La Belle Cleopatre, adorned with flags and flowers, 
duly besprinkled, named, and blessed, glided off the stocks 
on which she had been built, in the presence of all the 
municipal authorities, and floated gracefully into the 
water, making her courtesy to monsieur the sous-pre- 
fet, who certainly bore no resemblance to Julius Caesar 
or Mark Antony ; after which she brought up, without 
seriously wetting anybody to the skin, in the dock in which 
she was to receive her masts and rigging. 

There were not many more experiments to be feared, 
though the launch was not the final trial ; still, all the 
knowing ones (and Captain Kernuz flattered himself that 
he was one of them), as soon as they put foot on board of 
her, were astonished at the steadiness of the new vessel. 

It only remained to know how the schooner would be- 
have in deep water ; for the idea of the screw protected 
by two keels was, that small ships so fitted would be able 
to hold their own in the roughest sea. 

Captain Kemuz was most favorably impressed by his 
first view of La Belle Cleopatre ; and when it was pro- 
posed she should sail in a few days beyond the quiet wa- 
ters of the harbor, in order that her trial-trip might be 
complete, he asked to be one of the party on board of 
her, and wrote his name first on the list of applicants. 
Meantime, he whispered to George Gosselin that the 


68 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


son of the Bordeaux man had not appeared, for fear of 
being cut out in the race, and that, if he did put in an 
appearance, he would now be sent packing. He compli- 
mented M. Mauroy without cracking any of his broadest 
jokes, and sent to his own garden to have a magnificent 
bouquet of roses gathered, which he caused to be placed 
on the dinner-table, opposite the seat of Mademoiselle 
Berthe. 

Madame Gosselin, on that important day, had to omit 
several rounds of her rosary, and a furtive movement of 
her fingers showed that it was really difficult for her to 
spend three or four hours without her knitting. 

George was not elated by his happiness ; but he could 
not refrain from comparing himself to La Belle Cleopatre. 
He, too, had quitted the ship-yard of his dreams ; he was 
about to spread his sails to a new breeze ; he believed he 
was protected by a fortunate star, and was himself strong 
enough to battle with the storm of life, and resist the 
roughest usage of the ocean. 

As for M. Pleumeur, he was not to be seen among the 
Uite of the company; he stood apart from the crowd while 
the launch was going on. He did not like noise ; shouts 
and clapping were particularly disagreeable to him, as 
being signs of the foolish intoxication of weak human 
creatures. 

When he met George he merely said : 

“ I am pleased with you. You do not go into ecstasies, 
as the rest are doing, over your work.” 

“ You well know, my dear sir, that this work is but 
the means to an end.” 

“ That other launch, believe me, will go off as much 
to your satisfaction,” replied the ice-bound confidant. 

‘‘ Do you blame me for hoping so ? ” 


LA BELLE CLEOPATRE. 


C9 


‘‘ I never blame a resolute will. If I could have hin- 
dered your falling in love I would have done so. How- 
ever, Mademoiselle Berthe Mauroy seems to me a very 
sensible person, well-judging and practical. I am glad of 
it. She will not draw you so much away from science as 
to risk your future fame. I have been studying that young 
lady.” 

“ You have ? ” asked George, greatly surprised. 

“ Yes — from the bow on the top of her hat to the little 
heels of her gaiter-boots ; and I am satisfied. She has a 
firm will. Her dress shows no dangerous love of coquetry. 
Of course, she is a woman ; but she repairs that blemish 
by her disposition. If I had a son, I should not be afraid 
to have him marry her, provided he were not strong enough 
to go through life alone.” 

M. Pleumeur said all this without any emotion in his 
cold, calm voice — unless it were emotion which made him 
enunciate every word distinctly, like metal ringing upon 
marble. 

George was more moved by this severe approval than 
he would have been by any sympathetic enthusiasm. He 
pressed the cold hand of M. Pleumeur. 

“ I am so glad,” he said to his master, “ that you are 
already disposed to love Mademoiselle Berthe Mauroy ! ” 

‘‘I said nothing of the kind,” interrupted M. Pleu- 
meur. 

“Well, then, to esteem her.” 

“ My esteem is worth no more than my love. I de- 
sired to solve the problem of your marriage. I have done 
it ; just as I calculated the dimensions of La Belle Cleo- ^ 
patre. My calculations will prove all right, provided 
nothing intervenes on which we cannot calculate : tem- 
pests — a tidal wave — women ! ” 


70 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


It seemed as if a little personal bitterness found its 
way through M. Pleumeur’s words. 

George felt disconcerted, and answered : 

“But, monsieur. Mademoiselle Berthe has seen how 
much I love you ; she is disposed to love you, too, as I 
do.” 

“ No ; she will never like me,” replied M. Pleumeur, 
almost angrily. 

“ But I assure you, cher maitre — ” 

“ It is you, and you alone, whom she will care for.” 

“But still—” 

“ It is better as it is, believe me. I have not the heart 
to wish her to dislike me, though I ought to have.” 

“ But Berthe and I have planned a little scheme to find 
out all your secrets, and to make you happy.” 

“ I have no secrets, and I am not unhappy.” 

“ What can we do to win your entire confidence ? ” 
cried George, with great earnestness. “ I am certain that 
there has been some deep sorrow in your life. Ah, if I 
could but cure you ! ” 

M. Pleumeur looked straight with his cold, clear eyes 
for nearly two minutes full at George Gosselin, then he 
replied : 

“ No one can cure anything, however they may wish 
to do so. The only cure for life is death. You would not 
want to kill me, would you ? ” 

“ Then, mon maitre^ you own — ” 

“That I have not solved all the problems life has 
placed before me ? True ; but that does not prove that 
they cannot be solved. I am working at them still.” 

“ It is of no use your resisting us, M. Pleumeur ! ” cried 
George. “ By assiduity and love Berthe and I mean to 
succeed in overcoming your apparent coldness and indif- 


LA BELLE CLEOPATRE. 


71 


ference. If you were anybody but yourself, I should be 
certain we should make you smile. As it is, I am equally 
confident I shall yet see tears in your eyes.” 

“ Rash boy, do not desire that ! ” cried M. Pleumeur, 
seizing George tightly by the wrist. 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ Because, when that comes to pass, I shall be out of 
my mind. You will never see me weep till I have lost 
my self-control.” 

His voice softened as he uttered these last words, and, 
with a gesture of farewell to George such as he was al- 
ways accustomed to make to his pupils when he dismissed 
them from their lessons, he turned away and walked round 
the ship-yards, now lonely and deserted, the workmen being 
all engaged in making merry at the festival. 

Though Madame Gosselin was unwilling in any way 
to change her ways, she had thought it proper to make 
some concessions to elegance for the dinner-party at M. 
Mauroy’s. 

A silk dress was taken out of her hoards, marked still 
by the creases it had contracted in ita long seclusion from 
society, and this necessitated changes in the arrangement 
of her neck, the fashion of her head-dress, and the style 
of her hair. These changes made her look another woman, 
or, rather, brought out the real woman who had been hid- 
den in the dhvote. 

M. Mauroy smiled as he thought how her appearance 
now confirmed some slanderous rumors concerning her 
floating in the lower walks of society. Her gown was out 
of fashion, but it fitted her so perfectly that it showed 
every line of her figure to advantage. She had had to 
give up her thick, laced, square-toed shoes, made by a cob- 
bler in Kerantrec, and had put on a little pair of slippers 


72 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


with dainty bows, bought at Lorient in the great establish- 
ment for the sale of shoes and boots from Paris ; and the 
new slippers showed oif her pretty feet to perfection. 

Her hands were not long imprisoned in her new kid- 
gloves — most probably to save their wear ; but all the com- 
pany might now remark that Madame Gosselin had beau- 
tiful white hands, just plump enough, and that her taper- 
fingers were without any irregularities in their outline, and 
had almond-shaped nails, the sign of a pleasure-loving, 
sensuous nature. The prophetic swellings in the palms, to 
which those who make palmistry their study always look 
as indications of the passions, were pink and prominent ; 
the thumb, however, was unnaturally short, which broke 
the perfect symmetry of the whole hand, and was a mark 
of the strong, obstinate self-will characteristic of Breton 
women. 

Madame Gosselin had replaced her widow’s cap by a 
head-dress made of a fragment of lace most becomingly 
put on. Her hair was turned back from her brow and 
dressed in two slight puffs over the temples, which gave a 
new grace to her forehead. Her eyes — which were change- 
able in color, according to her feelings, or to the light — now 
looked a little fluttered, like birds who have been startled 
from their nest and know not where they may take shel- 
ter ; but as soon as their glance encountered a pleasing 
look, they returned it with eagerness, and their expres- 
sion became one of grateful appeal for kindness and for 
good opinion. 

For that day only Madame Gosselin had put on a pair 
of long gold ear-rings ; and the ear-rings drew attention to 
her very beautiful ears, whose tips were pink, and admira- 
bly rounded. 

A heavy Breton cross in beaten gold, with delicate lace- 


LA BELLE CLEOPATRE. 


78 ^ 


work tracery in gold filigree, was suspended from her neck, 
and hung above the opening of her corsage. It was very 
clear that Madame Gosselin did not persist in strangling 
herself with high frills because her throat and neck were 
withered and unlovely. 

Madame Gosselin’s manners, too, had altered with her 
style of costume. She gave up, with her quaint dress, her 
old-fashioned, unattractive ways, and became a charming 
and agreeable woman. 

She took her part without any visible emotion in the 
launch of La Belle Cleopatre ; she also walked for some 
time with Berthe Mauroy, and came back with her, to as- 
sist in superintending the arrangements for the dinner. 

Need we describe the toilet of Berthe ? Why should 
we ? She was clad in maidenhood and sweet simplicity, 
and that sweet light radiated about her which springs 
from hope and happiness, tempered by a strict sense of 
duty. Every one had been to her on this day all she 
could have wished. Captain Kernuz had been gallant and 
civil, treating her, however, as almost a little girl; Madame 
Gosselin was evidently beginning to consider her a daugh- 
ter ; and M. Pleumeur, whose eyes she had several times 
seen fixed upon her, she felt, was observing her with an at- 
tention which, from a judge so difficult to please, might be 
considered an honor. 

Besides, the ready manner in which he had accepted 
the invitation to the launch and dinner-party, proved 
that he had no bitter prejudices against Berthe or her 
father. 

We have said nothing of M. Mauroy’s behavior or 
appearance on that occasion. The truth is, it would be 
(Kfficult to say anything which would individualize him in 
the general crowd of ship-builders, heads of great fac- 
4 


74 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


tories, or sensible papas. On the day of the launch he 
was jolly, simple, and kind. He flattered Captain Kemuz 
by asking him to take the nominal command of La Belle 
Cleopatre in her proposed trip out of the harbor. He 
rang the changes on George’s merits, especially in the cap- 
tain’s ear. He seemed to take pleasure in repeating that 
it would be all owing to him, if the schooner should suc- 
ceed,, and their house make a new era in ship-building, as 
Messrs. Bas and Normand had done when they launched 
their schooner Le Corse, the first French vessel with a 
screw. He even went so far as to shake hands several 
times cordially with M. Pleumeur, saying to him, with an 
air of patronage : 

“We are indebted to you, too, my good sir.” 

M. Pleumeur submitted to the hand-shaking, smiled 
his mysterious mute smile, gave no hint of being humili- 
ated by the scrap of acknowledgment thrown to him out 
of charity, and indemnified himself by a side -look at 
George Gosselin, intended to say : 

“ You see. Science must be loved for her own sake, and 
that alone. She can console her votaries for men’s ingrat- 
itude, and keep her children safe from vain illusions.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE FAMILY D I X N E R - P A R T Y . 

The dinner-party at M. Mauroy’s was worthy of the 
rank to be henceforward accorded him in Lorient as the 
builder of La Belle Cleopatre ; it was also expressive of 
the delicate good taste of his daughter Berthe. 


THE FAMILY DINNER-PARTY. 


75 


Captain Kernuz, who had been a guest at all sorts of 
banquets — who had eaten of everything in all latitudes, 
with all manner of queer cookery — who had drunk healths 
to beauties of all climes and shades, under the influence 
of the most varied and contradictory views and tastes — 
was delighted and gratified by the good eating at M. 
Mauroy’s, and by the grace with which Berthe, who sat 
beside him, filled his glass every time he forgot to fill it 
for himself ; but, above all, he was astonished by the 
attempt at a pretty toilet on the part of Madame Gosselin. 
As he phrased it, he had come upon a conserve of jolie 
ifemme in a pot generally tied tight down, and which 
Pornic was always advising him never to meddle with. 

Mistrust would have been unpardonable in this open- 
hearted family party. It was the first time, too, since the 
captain came to live at Kerantrec that he had really been 
invited out and made much of. The pleasant thought 
that there could be no call to trim sails during the dessert, 
nor to separate too soon from the ruby and topaz glasses 
sparkling with the rosy wines from M. Mauroy’s cellar — 
that he need not gulp down his last glass because the wind 
was rising or had changed its quarter — the prospect, after 
this sumptuous repast, of smoking his pipe in peace, and 
of going sound asleep in his own villa, rocked in a dream 
as if on a most luxurious hammock woven of silk threads 
— here was, indeed, the otium cum dignitate looked for- 
ward to all through his busy life ! 

His appetite was capital, his joviality not too broad. 
He was highly gallant, without saying one word through- 
out the dinner that could make Berthe Mauroy blush, or 
Madame Gosselin cast down her handsome eyes. 

The pale, grave face of M. Pleumeur seemed to excite 
the vivacity of the captain. He rather appeared to sharpen 


76 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


up his wit on M. Pleumeur as on a whetstone, not daring 
to make a direct attack upon him ; for, though he particu- 
larly disliked the man, he regarded him with a sort of 
superstitious awe, but touching him up, as it were, by 
braving his disapprobation, and hitting him with chance 
shots apparently aimed at other persons in the party. 

Meantime, Madame Gosselin, as we have said, aston- 
ished the captain. He became charmed with himself for 
having carried out that excellent idea of his of olfering a 
home to the wife and son of his old friend and shipmate. 
He was now convinced that George was the most amiable 
and most industrious of young men ; and the repugnance 
he had all along felt to that cVevote Madame Gosselin, 
was, he was now satisfied, only the old pii-at e-instinct in 
his nature which, scenting a prize, was provoked at not 
getting a chance at it. He saw it all. From time to time 
he looked with admiration at Madame Gosselin’s beauti- 
ful hands. Sometimes, apparently without intention, in 
the expressiveness of the occasion, he touched her warm, 
soft hand with his clammy fingers, or his knee or his foot 
encountered those of the siren under the table. 

Whenever he touched her thus, Madame Gosselin gave 
a timid glance of surprise at his red countenance, lit up by 
an enigmatical half smile ; and this smile — such a smile as 
Leonardo da Yinci has immortalized on the thin lips of 
Joconda, as an eternal monument to feminine duplicity — 
caused a glow in the dying embers of the captain’s heart. 

He raised his glass, and gave a toast in honor of La 
Belle Cleopatre — not daring to give it to the health of 
Madame Gosselin. 

The sudden admiration he experienced seemed to solve 
a long unguessed enigma in his breast, yet it comprised no 
want of respect for its object. He said to himself : 


THE FAMILY DINNER-PARTY. 


77 


“The poor woman has muffled herself up all these 
years from modesty. She has thrown a sort of veil over 
her beauty, in order to be more faithful to her husband. 
For my old friend Gosselin’s sake she has been wearing 
those hideous caps, shutting herself up in her own cham- 
ber, knitting day and night, and going to church at all 
hours.” 

And yet, while rendering homage to this conjugal fidel- 
ity, Kernuz was beginning to plan how he might betray 
his old friend and comrade. Still he had conscience enough 
left to wish to give his new feelings the excuse of drunken- 
ness. But the wines at M. Mauroy’s table were so sound, 
that it was not an easy thing to get drunk upon them; and 
the captain had not so much merit in keeping sober as an 
outside observer might have given him credit for, for he 
filled up his glass again and again. Nothing came of it, 
however, but exhilaration ; and the exhilaration of rich 
people (even in the opinion of those who fiatter themselves 
they are without prejudices) is always more pardonable 
and amusing than the semi-drunkenness of the poor. Is 
it because gayety in the upper class is less common ? 

George was delighted ; M. Mauroy was charming ; 
the other guests felt honored by the expansive mirth and 
good fellowship of the captain. 

Berthe tried not to appear too much pleased at it. 
Madame Gosselin’s smile grew gradually broader and 
brighter, like a gleam of light on the horizon before dawn. 
M. Pleumeur alone sat unbrightened by this illumination, 
like the stick of a rocket which will blaze no more. 

The dinner lasted till a late hour. When the guests rose 
from the table the men went into the open air to smoke. 
Madame Gosselin and Berthe remained alone. George’s 
mother then became suddenly reserved again. Her habit- 


78 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


iial timidity, which had left her during the time of the re- 
past, returned to her. While waiting for her English 
widow’s bonnet, a veil, or cloud of modesty, seemed to 
envelop her. 

She prepared to take her leave, intending to walk home 
alone. She was not accustomed, she remarked, to be out 
so late in the evening. She said nothing of any duty of 
devotion, but she led it to be inferred that she had acted 
somewhat against her conscience, in allowing herself the 
freedom of a day of happiness. She kissed Berthe on the 
forehead, wrapped herself in a light summer-cloak, and 
set out, begging that her son might not be told that she 
was leaving, as he would wish to accompany her. 

“ He need not come home at present,” she said to Ber- 
the, implying, “ I shall leave him longer mth you.” 

Berthe accepted this maternal sacrifice without scruple, 
and made Madame Gosselin promise to come soon and see 
her again. It was a kind of indirect response to the 
adieu, as diplomatic as the adieu itself. 

Darkness came on. It was a warm, bright night, fra- 
grant with summer perfumes. Madame Gosselin walked 
on slowly alone, along the Oours Chazelles, fanning her- 
self with her handkerchief, and drawing in long breaths 
of evening air, laden for her, apparently, with odors of in- 
cense from the churches. 

When she came under the trees she stopped, and sat 
down on a bench, not because she was tired, but to think 
over the new sensations stirred within her by the events of 
the day. She was not sorry she had accepted the invita- 
tion of Berthe and her father, but she said to herself she 
might yet have cause to reproach herself for having en- 
joyed such worldly pleasure, unless (such is the casuistry 
taught in certain schools of conscience) Heaven would 


THE FAMILY DINNER-PARTY. 


79 


forgive a little wrong in consideration of great advantages 
to be derived from it. 

She remained a long time, with her hands resting in 
her lap, watching, not the stars which twinkled through 
the trees, shedding on her where she sat a glow of light 
from heaven, but the silvery path, and the burnt grass, 
which seemed to grow green again in the moonshine. 

She did not observe that a shadow had crossed her 
own — that some one on foot was drawing near, was close 
beside her. The new-comer touched her shoulder. 

She started, as if he had burned her by his touch, and, 
turning toward the dark outline, recognized it imme- 
diately. 

“ Is it you ? ” she said, half anxiously and half humbly. 

‘‘ I am very sure you were not thinking of me,” said 
the new-comer. 

“ When do I not think of you ? ” she answered, in a 
low voice. 

The man sat down beside her and grasped her arm : 

“ You need not lie,” he said, “ and least of all to me. 
It is of no use. Besides, we are in the dark. No one can 
see you.” 

A sigh was the only protestation of Madame Gosselin 
against the rough brutality of this observation. 

“ I have been wishing to talk with you for some time,” 
said the shadow. “ It has been long since we have met. 
Well, are you satisfied ? Do you think Captain Ker- 
nuz — ” 

‘‘ I do not understand you,” said Madame Gosselin, in- 
terrupting him. 

‘‘ You understand me perfectly. Do not put on stupid- 
ity with me. That game may suit others.” 

‘‘ Denis ! Denis ! why do you speak thus to me ? ” 


80 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


“ Why ? Because I feel pity, when I only ought to 
feel wrath. Ah, I saw you this evening, as I never thought 
to see you more ! I saw your evil eyes; I saw that cursed 
smile which made of me the wretch I am. I forbid you — 
do you hear me ? — to begin that game again. The cap- 
tain would ruin you, you miserable idol ! He would not 
be the fool that I have been.” 

“ Denis,” replied Madame Gosselin, with a touch of 
entreaty in the tones of her voice, “you were a hero. 
What you did was sublime.” 

“ No, it was pure folly. I had better have sacrificed 
you, and have killed myself. All would then have been 
over long ago.” 

“ And George ! ” answered the mother, in a timid voice. 

“ Dare you tell me that you love your son ? Do you 
love him as I love him ? Why do you ever name him ? 
George ! — suppose he knew about you ! ” 

“ I live only for him. I ask for pardon only for his 
sake,” murmured the d'evote, clasping her hands. 

“Was it for his sake you fiirted as you did this even- 
ing?” 

“ Possibly.” 

“ Poor, foolish creature ! Let one crime be enough. 
You understand me ? I do not choose that you should 
deceive this captain — as you have others.” 

The Breton obstinacy in her had a spasm of revolt. 
She shook her head. 

“You do not wish me to make friends with him?” 

“ No ; I do not.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I cannot bear that you should begin over 
again that terrible game which must end either in your 
victim’s death or his dishonor.” 


THE FAMILY DINNER-PARTY. 


81 


“ You have grown very particular,” murmured Madame 
Gosselin, with great bitterness, in spite of all her self- 
restraint and fears. 

“ Say out, if you like, that I am jealous.” 

“ Jealous ! Of me, Denis ? ” 

These words escaped her like caged birds fluttering 
forth from their captivity and soaring into the night. 

“I am jealous of my own secret ; I am jealous of your 
share in it. I do not choose you should escape me — do 
you hear ? I care little enough for the life or honor of 
that insolent pirate-captain. It is not himself I want to 
save. It is you. It is myself. It is the security that 
has been gained by habits long assumed. It is the quiet 
tenor of your daily life — the misery of mine ! ” 

“Denis, if you knew how much I suffer ! ” 

“ I^^’onsense about your sufferings ! Am I happy ? ” 

“ You are a man of science ; you find comfort in your 
calculations, I suppose.” 

“Are you not known for a devote? Have you not 
your beads, your holy water, and the comforts of confes- 
sion ? ” 

“ Denis, I wish I were an atheist, like you. I should 
not be afraid of God.” 

A sort of hollow laugh, quickly suppressed, was heard 
in the darkness. 

“ An atheist ! What do you know about atheists ? 
An atheist is a being who believes himself stronger than 
other men, and has the vanity to think that he can bear 
his own burden — that he can carry its weight alone. But 
the blue eyes of a baby, or the evil eyes of a woman like 
you, still make him experience the joys of heaven or the 
pains of hell ! As long as a man loves anything in this 
world, he has not given up all faith, all superstition ; he 


82 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


is not an atheist. You know one being who stands to me 
in God’s stead. You have rocked him in your arms ; 
though no blessing from that precious burden passed into 
your bosom. He is your son — my pupil — George ! My 
sole faith is in him.” 

“ I love my son,” muttered Madame Gosselin. 

‘‘ Hot as you ought. There are things you hesitate to 
sacrifice to him.” 

“ But my love as a mother, Denis, does not suffice me 
altogether ; it cannot take away my regrets for the past. 
You yourself advised me to seek relief in pious practices ; 
yet you yourself do not believe in them.” 

‘‘ Do all doctors heal themselves by the medicines they 
prescribe ? You would have betrayed yourself long ago, 
if you had not found in your new practices the power to 
feign.” 

“ I am not a hypocrite ! ” said Madame Gosselin, with 
some spirit. 

“You are a woman.” 

“Yes, true — I am a woman,” replied George’s mother, 
venturing in the darkness to look up at him whose glance 
she feared. “ Yes, I am an ardent, loving, willful woman, 
shorn of all love, all ardor, and all will. I do all I can to 
be like other women whom I meet at church. Sometimes 
I begin to doubt if I ever shall be able to accustom my- 
self to this life of devotion. I ruined you, Denis ; but 
you have poisoned my whole life ! Why did you ever 
let me love you ? You ought to have repulsed me at first ; 
then you would not be my tyrant now. Why will you 
not allow me to please myself? I cannot escape from 
you ! ” 

Madame Gosselin spoke with so much energy and ani- 
mation, that she almost became eloquent ; and she must 


THE FAMILY DINNER-PARTY. 


83 


have looked beautiful, could any one have seen her in the 
darkness. 

After a long silence, a hard, cold voice resumed : 

“It is not from me that you are striving to escape. 
It is from your own self — from the remembrance of the 
past ; and such an escape is now impossible. Even if you 
listened to the suit of Kemuz — ” 

“ I never thought of such a thing ! ” murmured the 
d'evote, plaintively. 

“ Do you suppose the captain will limit his admiration 
to vain sighs ? ” 

“ I will force him to respect my position in his family.” 

“You?” 

Madame Gosselin started and shivered, warm as was 
the night, so bitter was the emphasis on this word. 

“You despise me more than I deserve,” she said. 

“ Because I know you.” 

She rose up suddenly. The man sitting beside her 
made a movement to detain her ; then, shrugging his 
shoulders, he rose in his turn. They walked together a 
few steps in the darkness under the shadows of the trees. 
As they were about to step forth into a streak of moon- 
shine, which made a path of light that crossed their own, 
Madame Gosselin paused and hesitated : 

“ Denis,” she said, “ we may be seen ! ” 

“ Very true. Your reputation might be compromised. 
Go ; but remember ! ” 

“ Are you angry with me, Denis ? ” 

“No.” 

“ Are you certain ? ” 

The man gave a short, cruel laugh. 

“Is it because I offer you good advice that you ac- 
cuse me of wicked feelings ? ” 


84 


MADAME GOSSELm. 


“You spoke to me so bitterly.” 

“ I spoke to you in all sincerity.” 

“ Give me your hand at parting.” 

“ No.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ Because I gave it not long since to George, and I 
wish it to retain the pressure of his fingers.” 

The harsh voice softened as it spoke the cherished name, 
though the rest of the cruel sentence was not spared her. 

“You are always making use of my son’s name to 
taunt me,” she said, bitterly. 

“ Is that not your fitting punishment ? ” 

“ It ought to be yours as much as mine, Denis.” 

“ It is my reason for not allowing myself to be crushed 
down. It is why I forbid you to do anything, to attempt 
anything, which may spoil George’s future. Dream no 
more dreams about yourself ; let him enjoy his dreams. 
Adieu ! Do not, if you can help it, meet Captain Kemuz 
again this evening.” 

Madame Gosselin raised both hands, as if she had been 
struck across the face. Then she walked away rapidly, 
drawing the hood of her cloak over her head, for she was 
in truth afraid to meet*the eyes of those who passed along 
the street, or the bright eyes of the shining stars. 

M. Pleumeur stood looking after her a few moments, 
under the shadow of the trees. Then he laughed silently, 
but there was something in his laugh more harrowing than 
cries of anger or despair* ; and when he was quite sure that 
he could not, even if he would, overtake Madame Gosse- 
lin, he slowly took his way to his own cottage. 

On its threshold he paused, drew in a long breath of 
the soft air of the sweet summer night, and, looking up 
into the starry skies, murmured : 


THE FAMILY DINNER-PARTY. 


85 


“ In old times, when I used to return home after our 
stolen interviews, was I more miserable, more mad, more 
happy, or less wicked ? ” 

While all this was passing, George, to whom the even- 
ing hours* had seemed all too short, made believe that he 
had many things to say to M. Mauroy concerning La 
Belle Cleopatre. He went at great length over all the 
points of the new vessel, explained the little corrections 
and improvements he judged necessary, and talked ear- 
nestly about his future plans. 

The master-builder, in full sympathy with all his hopes, 
sat on a bench in front of his own house, looking over his 
ship-yard, smiling at the eager talk of the young engineer, 
though he heard but little of it, knowing well enough it 
was not addressed to him alone. 

Berthe, leaning on the back of her father’s garden- 
seat, passed her hand from time to time over his hair, and 
even kissed him, to make sure he should not go to sleep, 
while she listened with intense eagerness to the projects 
of her young lover. She cared not for the subject of his 
talk, but for its music ; and her heart beat as fast at his 
scientific explanations as if she had been listening to the 
most ardent words. 

Meantime, Madame Gosselin, with a sort of supersti- 
tious awe, carefully obeyed the orders that had been given 
her. She went home as fast as possible, and shut herself 
up in her chamber. But if Pornic, who saw her come in 
and heard her bolt her door behind her, had taken the 
trouble to listen at her keyhole, he might have heard 
strange words and anxious sighs — nay, even cries of anger 
and despair — as she rattled the beads of her rosary. 

As to Captain Kernuz, he was escorted home by all 
the principal persons of the town who had been present at 


86 


MADAME GOSSELLY. 


the banquet, and he invited them all to a great dinner he 
thought himself called upon to give M. Mauroy, after the 
proposed trial-trip of La Belle Cleopatre. Besides, as a 
generous emulation had been excited by all the honors 
paid him, he assured the friends of M. Mauroy, “who were 
now his own, that that gentleman was a man of means ; 
that capital invested in his house would be perfectly safe, 
especially if M. Mauroy took George into partnership, and 
gave him his daughter in marriage. 

“ I swore that I would take my old shipmate Gosse- 
lin’s place,” he said, with somewhat maudlin emotion ; “ it 
is a duty that I mean thoroughly to fulfill. His widow is 
an excellent woman ; his son will get the Cross of the 
Legion of Honor in a year or two. It is what I call a 
model family ! I only wish it was my own. But I am 
going to treat them just as if Madame Gosselin were 
Madame Kernuz, and George were my own son.” 

As he was undressing, the captain said to Pornic, who 
gave him a light for his last pipe : 

“ To-morrow, you old rascal, I am going to pay you off 
for all you have ever done for me.” 

“You owe me nothing, captain.” 

“Yes, I do ; I owe you something for giving me some 
dreadful fits of rage which frightened off the gout.” 

“ All right, if that is what you mean, captain.” 

“ I am very much indebted to you for them, you know ; 
so to-morrow I am going to my lawyer’s, and I am going 
to make my will.” 

“ Oh, captain, you shame me, talking of such things ! ” 
cried Pornic, hurt and angry. 

“Well, that is a beginning of vengeance. I’ll pay 
you off in many other ways while I live ; and then, look 
out for further vengeance when I die.” 


DREAMS. 


87 


Captain ! ” 

Pornic grew purple in the face with indignation. 

‘‘ Come, come, you old porpoise, you need not be afraid ! 
I am not going to leave you all my fortune.” 

“ That is too bad ! ” exclaimed the offended sailor. 

The captain only laughed. He puffed the blue smoke 
round his room, and went to bed smoking, having dis- 
missed Pornic, who went off looking like a condemned 
criminal. After about half an hour of drowsy reverie, 
Kemuz slowly took his pipe out of his mouth, put it on 
the table beside his bed, and fell asleep, dreaming that he 
was married to Madame Gosselin. But his friendship for 
his old messmate was not in any way impaired by his new 
conjugal relations. He dreamed that he had married his 
friend’s wife, yet, somehow, his friend was still living ; and 
it seemed a very satisfactory arrangement for all parties, 
since nobody had to wear mourning for anybody, and it 
appeared to suit all round. 


CHAPTER VII. 

DREAMS. 

Tei^ days after the launch. La Belle Cleopatre made 
her first voyage — or, more properly speaking, her first 
cruise— in blue water. Captain Kernuz being in command 
of her for the excursion. 

"When the schooner rounded the Point de Gavres and 
was out upon the open ocean, a moment of anxiety was 
speedily succeeded by wild enthusiasm. Those on board 


88 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


of lier were fully satisfied of the success of her screw 
and double keel. 

Captain Kernuz had not acquaintance enough with 
Yirgil to compare the little ship, as she glided over the 
waves, to Camilla treading over the ears of corn which 
did not bend beneath her footsteps ; but he swore the 
boat was a wonderful success, and that the cockleshells of 
the past generation were only fit to be used as bonfires in 
honor of La Belle Cleopatre. He swore, too, that his 
friend George was a man of genius ; and, shaking M. 
Mauroy by the hand, he cried : 

“ Build me a little beauty like that for myself. I’ll give 
her a name ! She shall have two — one for each keel ! ” 

And then, bending forward, he whispered in the ear of 
his new confidant, loud enough for every one on board to 
hear : 

“ I’ll call her ‘ The George and Berthe ’ ! ” 

M. Mauroy put his finger on his li]), as if to beg the 
gushing captain to be prudent ; but he did not seem dis- 
pleased at the suggestion. 

M. Pleumeur had not been asked to take part in this 
excursion. Enough had already been done for him. The 
master of the vessel had acknowledged his services, and 
had shaken him by the hand ; and, ten days ago, he had 
received all that was due to him. 

George, however, felt differently. His kindly nature 
could not forget his old master in his hour of triumph. 

When La Belle Cleopatre returned to her wharf that 
evening, and Captain Kernuz and M. Mauroy were gone 
to the lawyer’s ofiice, to talk over the arrangements of the 
partnership, the young engineer said to Berthe : 

“ I did not like to insist, to-day, on forcing M. Pleumeur 
upon Captain Kernuz ; but I should be ashamed, when I 


DREAMS. 


89 


think of all the blessings showered upon me, if I did not 
carry the first news of our success to my master.” 

“ Go, then,” said Berthe, giving him her hand, with a 
little tender smile, as if this act of consideration and grat- 
itude was to her another proof of his affection for her- 
self. 

George reached M. Pleumeur’s cottage just as night 
was coming on. He found its lonely inmate seated on a 
bench before his door. 

It was the first time he had ever found him so near his 
books yet unemployed in reading or calculation. The 
charm of the evening, he thought, must be very great, to 
draw forth from his little house one so invariably secluded 
there. And, as if this absence of employment was not 
strange enough in itself, M. Pleumeur also was deep in 
reverie. His eyes were fixed ; some feeling that he gen- 
erally kept out of sight was agitating him. 

“ Thank you,” said he to George, as his young friend, 
with a bright color in his face, breathless, and with eager 
eyes, came hastening toward him. 

What meant his thanks? Was he thanking him for 
bringing the news of the success of the little schooner ? 
— or for the spectacle of his eager gush of youthful hap- 
piness ? Had the time come when that stony man would 
allow himself to feel, to love, or to suffer ? 

“Ah, cher cried George, seating himself at 

M. Pleumeur’s side, “ I have come rather to thank you ! 
Do you know — I can hardly believe it — but Captain Ker- 
nuz and M. Mauroy have gone to see the lawyer ! In a 
week I shall be a partner in the house, and in a month — ” 

“ Did I not tell you so ? ” said M. Pleumeur. 

“ Yes ; but I owe it all to you ! What can I do to 
thank you ? ” 


90 


MADAME GOSSELIN 


“ Nothing. Only be happy.” 

“ Happy ! I can never be anything else. Berthe loves 
me, her father approves of me, Captain Kernuz loads me 
with kindness. It is too much happiness ! ” 

“ It may be so, indeed,” whispered M. Pleumeur. 

“ And when all comes to pass, mon moitre, my friend, 
my second father, you must share my good fortune with 
me ! ” cried George, frankly. 

M. Pleumeur trembled. Involuntarily he threw his 
arm around George’s neck. George at this movement 
leaned forward and bent his head to receive the fatherly 
embrace that he expected. But M. Pleumeur drew back ; 
the eager warmth of the young face, all bright with ten- 
der feeling, was too much for him. He stammered : 

“ What children we can be ! ” 

Then he rose suddenly and walked a few steps apart 
from George. 

“ The excursion was a success, then ? ” he asked. 

“Yes, sir,” said George, with disappointment in his tone. 

“ I knew it. I saw it.” 

“Ah!” 

“ Yes ; I saw you with my glass from the top of the 
cliff yonder. I saw La Belle Cleopatre go out of the har- 
bor. I was a little anxious at first, she moved so slowly ; 
but then I remembered she was probably commanded by 
a novice.” 

“ No ; Captain Kernuz commanded her.” 

“Well, Captain Kernuz did not know what he was 
about. I could not watch you further than the He Saint 
Michel ; but I saw you come back, which you did in fine 
style. So that work is well ended. Now we must turn 
to something else. I did not expect you here this even- 
ing.” 


DREAMS. 


91 


*‘Tlien you did me injustice.” 

“ No ; I only thouglit you would probably be intoxica- 
ted with your happiness.” 

“ I should not have felt it was complete, mon maUre^ 
without this visit to you.” 

M. Pleumeur walked away from George Gosselin — 
going a few yards down the road, and looking into the 
far horizon, as if trying to see something hidden by the 
rising mist over the distant ocean, but in reality he was 
trying to conceal his feelings. He was both ashamed 
and afraid of his own emotion. 

He came back to his pupil. 

“We shall not see each other, after a while, so much 
as we have hitherto done,” he said, with a sort of grim 
gayety. 

“ Why not ? ” 

“You will go and live with M. Mauroy. You will 
make all the little calculations, and so forth, that he has 
hitherto intrusted to me. He will no longer need me.” 

“ Oh ! M. Pleumeur, will you want me no longer ? ” 

“ Oh ! I know myself too well. I should be like a 
wet blanket on your happiness. The girl you are to marry 
has a brave spirit ; but even she could not long endure 
my shadow in your household. No, my boy, your mar- 
riage must part us. Besides, I have to make a journey.” 
“Ah!” 

“Don’t be alarmed. I shall not go before the wed-* 
ding.” 

Here M. Pleumeur broke off the conversation. He 
seized George by both hands, and wrung them eagerly ; 
then he turned away, and went back into his cottage. 
When it pleased him to act thus, George well knew it was 
of no use to try and stop him. 


92 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


The young engineer sighed, and resumed his walk to 
the Kernuz villa, but he said, as he went : 

“ Never mind ! I have made a rift in the marble at last. 
M. Pleumeur is bent upon avoiding us, because he is afraid 
w'e shall get the better of his insensibility. I shall suc- 
ceed at last. He came very near kissing me. I saw tears 
in his eyes. I shall find the way to his heart. He has 
struck his colors.” 

While George was planning thus, M. Pleumeur sat in 
his little parlor, vdth his elbows on the table, trying to 
close that rift of which George had spoken. For he, too, 
knew well enough that he had almost betrayed himself, 
and the imprudence he had committed alarmed him greatly. 

“ Why cannot I make an end of it at once ? ” he said, 
with tragic calmness. “ Whom do I live for ? Is it not 
for him ? In a little while he will have his wife, who will 
be everything to him ; in a year he will probably be made 
happier by having a child.” 

A child ! This last word seemed to cause him deep 
emotion. He had uttered it aloud ; the little parlor rang 
vuth it. M. Pleumeur seemed as if he would have checked 
the echo. 

“ His child,” he whispered. ‘‘ He, too, will be a father. 
Will he bring me the frail infant, and let me hold it in my 
arms, until I frighten it by my gaunt face and my grim 
smile ? Will he select me as the teacher of his son — ^if it 
’should prove a son ? May not this new joy in his life 
cause him to forget the obligations he now feels to me ? 
Shall I live only to experience that pang ? My death will 
deliver him. My curiosity is satisfied. Besides, so long 
as I live, my existence may at any moment compromise 
both his good name and happiness. I had better disap- 
pear. The accident by which I do so mil be talked of 


DREAMS. 


93 


for a day or two, then I shall he spoken of no more. Who 
knows, also, whether I shall not occupy a dearer place in 
his remembrance if I leave him suddenly, than if I live to 
grow old, cross, and disagreeable — passing into the condi- 
tion of an old friend whom one cannot get rid of, but who 
has survived the love once felt for him ? ” 

It was a touching inconsistency, an inconsistency which 
does honor to human nature, that M. Pleumeur (who 
plumed himself on being an advanced materialist), while 
he dreamed this day-dream of his own decease, was de- 
sirous that his memory should live after him in the heart 
of his pupil. 

What was the good of living, without knowingly en- 
joying the benefits of life ! By insensible degrees the 
skeptic came to hope that, when he was dead, and could 
no longer fear the discovery of his secrets, he might enjoy 
the delight of being regretted by George Gosselin, and 
being loved by him more than he had ever been loved be- 
fore. It was somehow like burying himself alive in the 
heart of his former pupil. 

Inconsistencies like this keep up the tone and dignity 
of human nature. 

Madame Gosselin, after the conversation she had had 
with M. Pleumeur under the trees in the Cours Chazelles, 
had been more absorbed than ever in her habits of devo- 
tion. 

Captain Kernuz was somewhat amazed, on the morning 
after the dinner-party at M. Mauroy’s, to find her the same 
insipid, colorless creature who had always annoyed him. 

He tried to find out if he had only dreamed. He paid 
Madame Gosselin all kinds of compliments as to her charm- 
ing appearance on the previous evening. He expected to 
arouse some of the coquetry which had frozen as if under 


94 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


a spell ; but his eloquence was lost upon her. Madame 
Gosselin turned up her eyes, as if she felt the captain’s 
pretty speeches a severe trial, and did not alter one line 
of the stiff braids she wore plastered down upon her tem- 
ples. 

It is true that her increased severity only redoubled 
the interest of the captain. Over and over again he said : 

“ You must wear that pretty silk dress again, you know, 
on the day of the wedding.” 

“Ah! upon that day — ” replied Madame Gosselin, 
with a plaintive quaver in her tones. She did not finish 
her sentence in words, but her voice and manner indicated 
either sublime resignation to her fate, or a resolve to daz- 
zle all eyes by a fresh display of her attractions. 

The captain understood her in the latter sense. He 
forgave the vddow’s cap, and promised himself the pleas- 
ure of enjoying more of her society than he had hitherto 
done. 

Madame Gosselin had not been on the excursion of La 
Belle Cleopatre, but she listened to George’s account of 
it, and said, when he had done : 

“ I shall return especial thanks for this mercy to-mor- 
row, at the Church of St. Louis. I shall offer two wax- 
candles on the altar. St. Louis had a mother whom he 
made happy. I consider him the patron saint of all good 
sons.” 

George thanked his mother ; but, somehow, her promise 
of the two candles touched him far less than his conver- 
sation with M. Pleumeur. 

“ At all events, dear mother,” he said, “ you must come 
back early from church, for you will have a good deal to 
do at home.” 

“Who— I?” 


DREAMS. 


95 


Captain Kemuz, you know, is to give a great break- 
fast-party, instead of the dinner he first talked of. The 
entertainment is to last all day. Your superintendence 
will be wanted ; your advice and your assistance will be 
in demand.” 

“ But, my son, I am nobody here.” 

“ Mother, the breakfast will be given for my sake.” 

“ It is not given in my house.” 

“ You are mistaken. Captain Kemuz, with his father- 
ly kindness, says we must look upon his house as our own. 
My father being absent, his old Mend takes his place. 
When you are praying for me, pray for my father, too, 
that God may soon bring him home to us again. His pres- 
ence will be the only thing lacking to-morrow to make my 
happiness perfect. For years his return has been the great 
wish of my life.” 

‘‘Your father’s return?” said Madame Gosselin, shak- 
ing her head slowly, and speaking in an altered tone. 

“ Yes. How I wish he could make his appearance 
among us this evening — to-morrow — or before long ! It 
is the only wish that I have now ungratified.” 

The devote looked at her son with a glance half-fright- 
ened and half-angry, as if, had she dared, she would 
have frozen the unwelcome wish upon his lips, and have 
scolded him for forming it. 


96 


MADAME G08SELIK 


CHAPTER YIII. 

REALITIES. 

Captain Keenuz belonged to that class of obstinate 
persons who hold out, argue, and resist evidence for the 
sole pleasure, seemingly, of finding it at length too strong 
for them, and who, having enjoyed wrangling as long as 
the pleasure lasts, give in with entire satisfaction. 

Such natures, if feminine, love to draw down upon 
themselves the coups de hdton of Moliere’s Sganarelle, 
and think it hard if they escape persecution — always in- 
tending to pay off their opponent. If masculine, they 
rush frantically into changes they had never before put 
faith in, and get out of the scrape afterward with equal 
suddenness, and great bitterness of feeling. 

The captain had, by nature, instincts of justice and 
kindliness. But it was his principle never to admit any 
degrees of right or wrong in human conduct ; and he fan- 
cied himself just in applying this unvarying rule, and 
never taking into consideration extenuating circumstances. 

If he had presided at the judgment of Solomon, and 
had hit on the idea of cutting the child in two, he would 
certainly have carried out his decree to the bitter end, 
and have had the sentence executed at any cost, whatever 
it might involve. 

Accustomed to arbitrary, command, and fortunate in 
all his undertakings, he had acquired a feeling of personal 
infallibility, which in no wise prevented his changing his 
mind on any subject, yet always made him frantically in-- 
fatuated by his uppermost idea. He tried, with sailor-like 


REALITIES. 


or 

simplicity (without analyzing his feelings), to make ujd 
for the changeableness of his impressions, by a stern ad- 
herence to them so long as they continued his own. 

Captain Kernuz, therefore, was the heartiest of friends 
till something happened to change his mind ; and he al- 
ways felt his conversions to be due to little less than a 
general upheaval of all Nature — a convulsion of the very 
earth on which he stood. 

After having joked and scoffed at modem science, he 
now desired to have a share in it. After having for years 
denied the genius of George Gosselin, he now believed in 
him extravagantly, and refused to admit that any errors 
could be committed through the ignorance or the inexpe- 
rience of his young After having kept Madame 

Gosselin five years in quarantine, he now ’svished her to con- 
sider his house her own ; and we have sufficiently indi- 
cated what other unbecoming hopes had found their way 
into his ardent breast. 

Was he still thinking of his old friend Gosselin? 
Was it only for his sake, and as an offering of gratitude, 
that he was about to make his will in favor of George, 
and to put two hundred thousand francs into the business 
of M. Mauroy ? 

Was it not rather a nameless impulse which harmonized 
wdth the late interest excited by Madame Gosselin ? 

However this might be. Captain Kernuz made up his 
mind to give such a ftte as should be talked of not only 
in the town, but in the country round, in connection with 
those great events, the bridal of La Belle Cleopatre with 
Neptune, and the engagement of George Gosselin with 
Mademoiselle Berthe Mauroy. 

A table had been laid in his beautiful garden, under 
an elegant awning, and the captain’s handsome silver glit- 
5 


98 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


tered in an arbor as gleams of sunshine fell upon it through 
the trembling leaves. 

All those who had been at M. Mauroy’s dinner had 
been asked, and the family lawyer besides. Berthe was 
a little more dressed than at the dinner-party, as she was 
not at home. Madame Gosselin compromised with M. 
Pleumeur’s scruples (as he was not invited to the enter- 
tainment), and put on her silk gown again. The only 
change she made in her toilette was perhaps a refinement 
of coquetry. 

The large gold Breton cross did not confine the ker- 
chief at the throat ; and the dress it had so modestly fast- 
ened was slightly more open than before. 

The captain noticed this change when he seated her 
beside himself at table. 

The sumptuous breakfast began with much ceremony. 
Pornic, got up as a maitre dhotel^ helped everything to 
go off well, by his good humor. He appeared to have 
made up his mind to the melancholy necessity of having 
his name placed among those of the legatees of the cap- 
tain, and even to accept the idea of the Gosselins — moth- 
er and son — being permanently installed as his master’s 
actual family. 

Though he never preceded the captain in his changes 
of opinion, he always followed in his wake. La Belle Cle- 
opatre had fascinated him as well as his master, and when 
pouring out wine to the young engineer, he had a great 
mind to whisper to him : 

“ Give me a berth on board of her, M. George.” 

By degrees the stiif magnificence of the entertainment 
wore away. Gayety began to assert itself. They drank 
to youth, to talent, to the navy, to Neptune, to the past 
glories of Lorient, to its future prosperity, to M. Mauroy. 


REALITIES. 


99 


to George Gosselin, to Mademoiselle Berthe, to Madame 
Gosselin, to La Belle Cleopatre, to the lawyer. They 
drank deep, and, as George had predicted, the breakfast 
lasted far into the afternoon. 

Such entertainments are seldom in any hurry to con- 
clude. They only terminate when the guests get tired 
of them. 

Not for worlds would Captain Kernuz have given the 
signal to rise from table. He was gloriously comfortable 
himself, and glad to stay as long as possible. From time 
to time the guests rose to stretch their legs ; some even 
went away to smoke cigars ; but he remained sitting at his 
place, resolved to preside over his feast so long as there 
remained one guest to keep him company. 

About four o’clock Berthe asked her father to take her 
home ; and George could not but accompany his fianc'ee 
and M. Mauroy. 

Madame Gosselin was one of the last guests who re- 
mained sitting by the captain. She poured him out a 
glass of brandy next, which he emptied before dropping 
off to sleep ; and as he succumbed to that comfortable 
drowsiness which crowned the pleasures of his day, she 
made his sleep more sweet by a few soft words of grati- 
tude. 

The beatitude of the occasion seemed pervasive and 
universal. Who would not have been happy in that love- 
ly garden, surrounded by the remains of such a sacrifice 
to the gods who preside over good eating — under that 
blue sky, gilded by the sunset as the shades of evening 
fell ? Who could have supposed a storm was gathering ? 
Who could have seen the little streak of thunder-cloud 
that was mounting above the horizon ? 

Several times, as Pornic was clearing away, he had 


100 


MADAME G08SELIN. 


looked up at tke sky (as an old sailor always lias a trick 
of doing), and every time he looked he said to himself, 
with a smile of satisfaction : 

“The weather is superb! No need to brace the yards. 
All is well.” 

About five o’clock the guests had all departed ; the 
garden was empty. Madame Gosselin had gone up to her 
own chamber ; Captain Kernuz was snoring gently (that 
low, regular snore which tells the tale of good digestion), 
still seated before his table covered with some of the 
plates and glasses of dessert, when Pomic, who had sev- 
eral times approached the place, and looked in his master’s 
face and listened to his breathing, decided, with a sigh, to 
rouse him from his slumbers. It was no easy task. The 
captain tacked several times before he cast anchor on the 
shores of Wide-awake. He shook himself once or twice, 
to make sure of his perceptions. He had to hurst some 
charming chains — to scatter some bright wi’eaths of flow- 
ers, which had hound him in his dreams. 

“What do you want, you rascal?” he asked, fixing 
upon Pornic his large, half-opened eyes. 

“ Captain, there has been a sailor here for two hours 
past.” 

“ If he wants to ship on board La Belle Cleopatre, let 
him apply to George.” 

“ No, captain ; it is not that.” 

“ Can’t you give him something to eat, then, and to 
drink, without disturbing me ? ” 

“ He has a message for you.” 

“ For me ! From whom ? ” 

“ From Captain Gosselin.” 

At the name of his friend. Captain Kemuz gave a cry, 
and rose from the table so suddenly, that an empty cham- 


REALITIES. 


101 


pagne-glass, which had been set down carelessly, rolled off 
on to the floor and broke to pieces — which seemed a bad 
omen to Pomic, who was given to superstition. 

“ From Gosselin ! ” muttered Captain Kernuz, with a 
sort of horror, as if all of a sudden he felt that he had 
riot been acting rightly toward his old comrade. 

“Yes, captain,” answered Pornic, opening wide his 
mouth, full of white teeth, to reassure his master by 
what he meant for a smile. 

Captain Kernuz passed his hand over his eyes and 
brow, as if to brush away the remains of the dream that 
lingered round him, then he said, more firmly : 

“ Tell him to come in.” 

While Pomic went for the messenger. Captain Kernuz 
picked up a decanter on the table, poured out a glass of 
water, which he drank to compose his nerves, and remained 
standing. He soon heard steps upon the gravel-walk, and 
the sailor came in, escorted by Pornic. 

“ You come from my old friend. Captain Gosselin, I am 
told,” began the captain. 

“Yes, captain.” 

“ How is he ? ” 

The sailor drew back a little, and hesitated for an 
answer. 

“ He must be all right now,” he said, at last, with a 
quaver in his voice. 

Captain Kernuz felt as if he had received a blow in 
the chest. He struck the table with his fist. 

“ What’s that you say ? ” 

“That Captain Gosselin is no more, captain, and I 
have brought you a letter.” 

“Dead!” 

Captain Kernuz sank back into his chair. “ Dead ! ” 


102 


MADAME G0S8ELIK 


he repeated, trying to perceive something in the counte- 
nance of the sailor that might contradict his news. 

The sailor stood before him, and, as he had the setting 
sun behind him, he saw the purple face of Captain Ker- 
nuz, who could not see his. 

There was a moment’s silence ; then the captain looke'd 
up, and, in a troubled voice, said, “ When ? ” 

“ Ten days ago.” 

“ Ten days ago ! ” The captain d;umed dates over in 
his memory, and perceived it had been upon the very day 
of the launch of La Belle Cleopatre. 

The contrast in this coincidence struck him painfully. 

“ Shipwrecked — was he not ? ” 

The sailor shrugged his shoulders, not from want of re- 
spect, but as a sort of emphasis to his words. 

‘‘He died on as fine a day as ever shone out of the 
heavens. But maybe not of any sickness.” 

“ What had happened ? ” 

“ Oh ! all kinds of troubles. Poor Captain Gosselin 
gave way under them ; any one could see that. He died 
of a broken heart ; that was really what he died of.” 

Captain Kernuz dared not ask further questions. He 
kept thinking. “ Ten days ago, when my old shipmate 
lay dying, we were drinking healths to La Belle Cleo- 
patre ; nothing forewarned any of us ; and — ” 

The sailor, following the precedent of Theramenes, who 
takes advantage of the despair of Theseus as the proper 
moment for giving him the details of the death of Hippo- 
lytus, obeyed the same impulse of an uncultivated nature, 
and endeavored to drown the grief of Captain Kernuz by 
the flood of his bad tidings. 

“ Yes, captain,” he said, “ we have seen hard times with 
Captain Gosselin, especially during the last two years. 


REALITIES, 


103 


Our ship must have been unlucky. We were wrecked 
twice. The second time, we went ashore on a sharp reef 
in the Viti Archipelago in the Southern Seas. We ought 
to have got off ; but, somehow, we did not save the ship, 
and everything was lost. The old ship laid her bones there. 
She gave up the ghost. She went to pieces. The cargo 
was all lost, and the captain lost heart, too. He was all but 
drowned, when I dragged him ashore by his hair. The na- 
tives of those islands were kind to us. I don’t know but that 
the captain would have liked well enough to stay and live 
among them, if it had not been for his crew. A Dutch 
ship took us off, after we had been there nine months. 
She was bound to Havre — which just suited us. The voy- 
age was tedious, and about two weeks ago Captain Gosse- 
lin sent for me, and said, ‘ I feel very sick. I don’t think 
I shall live to go ashore.’ He was very pale ; but he 
was up, and going about, and I could not imagine what 
could induce a man to talk of dying, when he had not ta- 
ken to his berth. I tried to cheer him up a bit. ‘House!’ 
he said ; ‘ I am worn out, hull and rigging. I shall foun- 
der at sea. Promise me, as soon as you get back to France, 
to carry some papers I will give you to my old friend Ker- 
nuz, who lives at Kerantrec, near Lorient ; and tell him 
that, if I could have made up my mind to live anywhere, 
I should have liked nothing better than to have lived with 
him.’ I remember his exact words. As soon as I came 
ashore, I took the railroad and came here. Here are the 
papers. I have obeyed orders ; and the reason I wanted 
them to wake you just now, to listen to such bad tidings 
(for which, I am sure, I ask your pardon, captain), is, that 
I must be back to-morrow at Havre, where my new ship is 
just ready for sea. Here, captain, take your letters. They 
are just as he gave them to me.” 


104 


MADAME GOSSELIM. 


“ Did he give you nothing for his wife, or son ? ” asked 
Kemuz. 

“ Ko ; he only mentioned you. But, belike, you will 
find something for them inside.” 

The sailor had already laid a large envelope on the 
table. 

Captain Kemuz put forth his hand, hut he did not take 
the letter. He held his hand out, as if he were expecting 
to feel it grasped by that of his old friend. 

“ My poor old messmate ! ” he muttered ; if I had 
been there I’d have kept him from dying. So there was 
no doctor on board ? ” 

“I beg your pardon, captain, the ship carried a sur- 
geon, only Captain Gosselin would have nothing to do 
with him ; and at the last, when he was too weak, and had 
to give in, the Dutch doctor could do nothing for him.” 

“ Did he say what he died of ? ” 

The Dutch captain may have had it entered in his 
log-book ; but I don’t understand Dutch. Anyhow, I did 
not care to know what he died of ; it was enough for me 
that he was dead. We fellows don’t always care to be 
too curious about the sea ; we let her keep her secrets 
w^hen she swallows us. The last words he spoke, he said 
to me. He was in bed. He seemed quiet enough, yet one 
could see it was only his strong will kept things quiet 
round him. He gave me my message a second time. He 
said I was not to be so foolish as to carry his body home, 
nor was I even to take it back to France, so as to bury it 
on land, in some graveyard ; he would be buried in the 
sea. Having settled all his little affairs, he asked to be 
left alone with the doctor. After that he did not try to 
conceal his sufferings. It was midnight. I was on the 
quarter-deck, waiting in case he called for me. Suddenly 


REALITIES. 


105 


I lieard a dreadful cry. I ran down the companion-way, 
and, notwithstanding my orders, I opened the door of his 
state-room. He was dead. The scream I had heard was 
his last cry ! The doctor looked very pale. Captain Gos- 
selin’s face was almost blue ; there was a little foam upon 
his lips, and I wiped it off with my hand. His eyes were 
fixed full at me, like the eyes of a drowned man. I closed 
them. 1^’ext morning we did all he had told us. All the 
crew stood by to pay him the last honors, and then — 
Well, you know just how it is, captain. He sank swiftly, 
feet foremost, into a perfectly calm sea. It seemed as if 
he wanted to be gone, I thought. It was off the coast 
of Ireland. That is all I can tell you.” 

Captain Kernuz’s face was wet with tears by this time, 
and tears were rolling down the sailor's, too. 

“ Come here,” said Kernuz. 

The man did as he was bid. The captain took his 
hand, wrung it, and pressed it warmly. 

“ You bring me sad news,” he said, ‘‘ and yet I thank 
you. You speak of poor Gosselin, friend, as if you loved 
him.” 

“ There was no great merit in a man’s loving him,” 
replied the other, roughly. 

“ Have you really shipped for another voyage ? ” 

“ Yes, captain ; I really have.” 

“ I should like to keep you with me.” 

‘‘ That can’t be now, sir.” 

“Well, then, make your voyage, but promise me that, 
when your time is out, you will come back here to me.” 

“ Captain — ” 

“ I insist upon your coming. I feel sure that Gos- 
selin, in this letter of his, commissions me to provide for 
you.” 


106 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


“ If Captain Gosselin thought that the right thing to 
do—” 

“ Meanwhile, here is something to fit yourself out 
with.” 

“ Captain, I don’t want to take your money.” 

‘‘ Anyhow, I must pay your traveling expenses. Here, 
Pornic ! take care of this good fellow. See to his kit, 
and fill his pockets, and his tobacco-hag. Take my purse, 
since he makes such a fuss about using it ; pay every- 
thing you can for him, and bring me hack as little as pos- 
sible.” 

Once more Captain Kernuz shook the sailor’s hand, and 
sent him off with Pornic. In the first shock of his grief 
he was glad to be alone. He rested his head on his hands 
and his elbows on the table, and remained a long time in 
this attitude, looking straight before him into empty 
space, and sketching ceaselessly on his memory that vivid 
picture of a mysterious death-bed, those last moments of 
his dying friend. He felt as if they had only just been 
parted ; and when the narrative of the sailor ceased, it had 
seemed as if he still felt the warmth of the parting grasp 
of a living hand. 

He was enjoying the strong emotion rarely experi- 
enced by rough men — the sad relief of weeping for a 
friend. 

He forgot the letter lying on the table. He even forgot, 
after a while, the visit of its bearer. He saw nothing but 
poor Gosselin. His pallid, emaciated face, as if just risen 
from the brine, tinged by the last glow of sunset, seemed 
slowly to appear before him, seated opposite to him, across 
that festive table, looking at him with the eyes of a 
drowned man, and saying : 

“ I want to talk with thee, old friend, about the sor- 


REALITIES. 107 

rows of my life, and the hopeless misery of its unhappy 
close.” 

There is something attractive to many men in this kind 
of day-dreaming about actual sorrows. 

Kernuz had but to stretch out his hand to his letter, 
and break its seal, to know all about his friend’s myste- 
rious troubles. But he would not have done it upon 
any account; he wanted to imagine them. As the evening 
breeze brought the swell of the ocean to his nostrils, it 
seemed as if the soul of his departed shipmate lingered 
by him still, and he wished to put himself into sympathy 
with its presence, by the poignancy of his regret. 

When Pornic came back again, about two hours after- 
ward, he found the captain, to his astonishment, in the 
same place and the same attitude. Twilight had deep- 
ened into gloom in the garden, in the bower, and around 
the captain, enfolding him with that tender, sympathetic 
melancholy which pervades a summer night. Pornic rent 
this veil at once by coughing, to announce his presence. 

“ Ah, ha ! that’s you, is it ? ” said Captain Kemuz, 
coming out of his reverie more readily than two hours be- 
fore he had come out of his dream. “ Did you see the 
sailor off ? ” 

“Yes, captain.” 

“ Poof Gosselin had fallen in with a fellow something 
like yourself, it seems.” 

“ Easy enough, too ! ” said Pornic, modestly. 

“ It isn’t so easy to be loved after a man is dead. If 
I were to die, Pornic, would you obey me as faithfully as 
he did poor Gosselin ? ” 

Pornic did not answer, but there was a gruff sound in 
his throat, which told that he was angry at being asked a 
useless question, and hurt at the painful allusion. 


108 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


Captain Kernuz persisted : 

“ How do you know that I might not leave you orders 
to do something disagreeable ? — to love and serve, when I 
was gone, persons you never could abide while I was 
living ? ” 

“ Don’t, captain ! ” cried out Pomic, with indignation. 

“Do you mean to say you would not do as I told 
you ? ” 

“ It is not that — I did not mean that ! ” growled Por- 
nic. “ But why will you keep on, to-night, talking about 
dying ? ” 

“ Because I have been thinking about death these two 
hours. If this news had reached me a short while ago, 
when all the company was at table, I think it would have 
crushed me like a thunderbolt. To think of poor Gosselin 
down there alone, at the bottom of the ocean ! And I re- 
member how we made plans, on our first voyage, forty 
years ago, to make our last cruise together ! Gosselin has 
gone to wait for me in another world ! Ah ! I wish he had 
listened to me in China. Do you suppose he died of 
fever ? ” 

“ Hang it, captain ! how can I know ? ” 

“ No, no. He had made up his mind to die, and he did 
die. But what could have been his great sorrow ? ” 

Pomic gave an exclamation of surprise : 

“ Doesn’t he tell you in that big letter ? ” he said. 

“ I forgot all about his letter,” said Captain Kernuz, 
naively. 

He drew the big envelope toward him as he spoke, 
and tore it open ; while Pornic, who at the same moment 
heard something crack beneath his feet, stooped down, 
and began picking up bits of the broken champagne-glass, 
with a sigh. 


REALITIES. 


109 


The light was not sufficient. The captain could not 
make out a line. Pornic went for a candle. 

“I’ll go in,” said Captain Kernuz ; “there seems a 
great deal of it.” 

As he stepped out of the arbor, a waft of night-air 
passed over the trees and flowers. He stopped short, and 
sighed. 

“ Where is George ? ” he asked. 

“ Gone home with Monsieur and Mademoiselle Mau- 
roy.” 

“ Then he won’t he home soon. Poor fellow ! If you 
see him before I do, don’t tell him about it, Pornic. Let 
him have all this happy evening free. It seems hard at 
any age to find, at the dessert of such a feast as we have 
had this day, a bullet of this sort in one’s plate. But at 
George’s age, and with one of his disposition, the wound 
will not be mortal. I will break it to him myself, to- 
morrow. Where’s Madame Gosselin ? ” 

“ In her own room. Shall I call her ? ” 

Pornic spoke eagerly, as if it would be rather pleasant 
to him to give her a painful surprise ; unless, indeed, he 
could be supposed to have formed so high an estimate of 
the piety and Christian resignation of Madame Gosselin, 
that he was glad to be able to afford her an opportunity 
of displaying them. 

The captain hesitated ; he walked toward the house 
without answering. At the foot of the steps that led up 
to the entrance, however, he turned back, and said : 

“ Don’t say anything, either, to Madame Gosselin.” 

He went up the steps. 

Pornic, who was looking at him half with pity half 
with vexation, gave himself two thumps in the breast, 
and followed him into the villa. 


110 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE captain’s pipe. 

The captain went straight to his own room. Pornic 
followed him, lighted a wax candle, set it on the table, 
and waited till his master should have possessed himself 
of the contents of Captain Gosselin’s letter, as though he 
fully expected then to receive orders. 

Whether it were that Captain Kemuz could no longer 
depend on his own eyes, or that the handwriting was hard 
to read, or that his feelings interfered with his eyesight, 
several minutes passed in his stretching out and drawing 
back his arms to find his focus, moving the paper into 
various positions, changing the candle from place to place, 
and fidgeting generally, without apparently understand- 
ing the purport of the hieroglyphics of his fellow-sailor. 
Then, of a sudden, his attention became fixed ; he grew 
excited ; his hand shook ; the letter trembled in his grasp 
with grief and rage. 

Several times he stopped, and cried out, “ The wretches ! 
Oh, the wretches ! ” but Pornic did not know whether he 
meant the savages upon the island where Captain Gosse- 
lin had been wrecked, his own crew, or the crew of the 
Dutchman. 

Twice Captain Kernuz wiped his forehead. His face 
looked red enough for apoplexy. When he reached the 
end of the communication, he let the letter drop at his 
feet, and rose. His looks were wrathful, threatening, yet 
so full of genuine grief, that it seemed too much for him. 

Pornic, full of sympathy, said : 

“ Captain, you are terribly distressed ! ” 


THE CAPTAIJV^S FIFE. 


Ill 


“ Of course I am. I feel it dreadfully ; others shall 
feel it too. Those wretches ! Oh, those wretches ! ” 

He put his fingers up to his cravat and tore it from 
his throat. He took several steps forward, but stumbled, 
and sank back into a chair. 

Pornic, greatly alarmed, rushed toward him. Captain 
Kernuz looked fiercely at him, but his glance softened, as 
he cried : 

“ Nonsense ! You don’t suppose I am going to faint, 
like a woman, do you ? No ; the blow is dreadful, but 
I’ll bear it ! I must bear it ! Give me a glass of water 
with some rum in it.” 

Pornic obeyed — he never remonstrated ; but, instead 
of a glass of water with a little rum in it, he poured out 
a glass of rum wdth a little water. The captain tossed it 
off ; then, washing to see whether he was quite master of 
himself again, he got up from his chair, picked up Cap- 
tain Gosselin’s letter, folded it, laid it upon the table, and 
asked for his pipe. 

Pornic gave it to him. 

It was a long^lay pipe, which he had smoked for some 
years, and, though very brittle, it ran no risk of breaking 
in his hands, for the captain was careful of it even in his 
fits of passion. Indeed, he rather prided himself on the 
care he took of it in such moments ; as people tremu- 
lous from affections of the nerves sometimes pique them- 
selves on their skill in cutting out delicate patterns in 
paper. 

Pornic, well pleased to hear his master asking for his 
pipe, favored his pufiing his pipe, in hopes it would blow 
off his wrath ; and as soon as the first puffs of blue smoke 
serenely fioated through the chamber, he placed himself 
in his most insinuating attitude before Captain Kernuz, 


112 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


intending to ask some particulars concerning the death of 
the late captain. 

Captain Kernuz did not respond, however, to his curi- 
osity, and in an icy tone of command desired him to fetch 
Madame Gosselin, while, as he spoke, a cloud of smoke 
from a particularly fierce puff made a mist around his 
head. 

Madame Gosselin was engaged in her devotions. She 
made Pornic wait some moments before opening her 
chamber-door ; and then she only held it ajar while she 
asked what he wanted of her. 

The request to go down to Captain Kernuz, in his room 
(she slept on the second story and the captain on the first), 
astonished her exceedingly, and put her on her dignity. 
She made Pornic repeat his orders more than once ; and 
then, when she found there was no use in discussing the 
command, and nothing to be done but to obey, she threw 
a rapid glance at the looking-glass over her bureau — of 
course not from coquetry, but from profound mistrust, to 
see if there was anything indecorous in her toilet — and 
then, as solemnly as Judith advancing toward the tent of 
Holofernes, and prepared, like the fair widow of Bethu- 
lia, to submit to whatever might be in store for her so she 
might gain her end, she went down into the captain’s 
chamber. 

When she reached the door, which Pornic stood wait- 
ing to open, she stopped. 

“ Do you know what the captain wants of me ? ” she 
said, in a low, agitated voice, laying her hand upon the 
sailor’s sleeve. 

“ Ko,” said the other, roughly. 

He had opened the door by this time, and drew back 
so as to be passed by Madame Gosselin. On the threshold 


THE CAPTAIN'S PIPE. 


113 


she paused, and gaA^e him another look, which seemed to 
say, “ Are you not coming in with me ? ” 

Pornic made no answer, hut drew hack still further, 
with the air of a man who sees a great gulf yawning at 
his feet. Then he shut the door, and, fearing he might 
be tempted, if he staid, to listen at the keyhole, hurried 
down the staircase and went to see after his household 
affairs. 

Captain Kernuz was walking up and down the room, 
and his back was toward Madame Gosselin when she en- 
tered. She cast a rapid glance around, and saw nothing 
alarming. The captain seemed to be smoking his pipe as 
usual. He had probably, she thought, sent for her, as 
George’s mother, to talk over some details relative to the 
partnership or the marriage. Perhaps he was going to find 
fault with her again for the severity of her toilet. She 
was, however, still in her silk gown ; and, casting her eyes 
downward, she saw, with a half -smile, that the folds of 
her kerchief remained open. 

Captain Kerauz, when he heard the door unclose, had 
faced about. He took his long pipe out of his mouth, 
and pressed down the tobacco with his thumb ; then, with 
eyes infiamed and mouth half-open, he advanced toward 
Madame Gosselin. 

A few feet from her he stopped, and remained silent. 
But the fury in his face betrayed the agitation of his 
mind. 

Madame Gosselin stood finn as a martyr, or bold as an 
evil enchantress. 

“ You sent for me, monsieur,” she said, in an insinu- 
ating voice — in tones that, at any other moment, would 
have seemed full of honey and persuasion. 

Kernuz, who began to frown as she began to speak. 


114 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


opened his eyes wide, that she might fully see their angry 
expression. 

“Yes,” he said ; “I have news from your husband.” 

“ Indeed ! ” 

“ He is dead.” 

The brutal abruptness of this declaration did not make 
Madame Gosselin stagger or start. She raised her eyes 
to the ceiling with an expression of angelic meekness. 

“He killed himself,” resumed Kernuz. 

“ Poor man ! ” sighed Madame Gosselin, clasping her 
hands. 

“More properly speaking, he was killed,” continued 
the captain. 

“ What ! murdered ? ” 

“ Yes, murdered ! A most vile and cowardly murder ! ” 
replied Kernuz. 

“ Who killed him ? ” began the widow, with innocent 
astonishment. 

“ Parhleu! yourself ! ” 

“ 19 ” 

“ Yes, you, his evil genius ! — you, whom he did not kill, 
because he thought that his contempt was punishment 
enough ! — you, from whom he could not get far enough 
away, even at the antipodes ! ” 

Ko words can give a faithful description of the inef- 
fable, reproachful meekness of Madame Gosselin’s attitude 
of silent protestation. She raised her timid eyes to the 
wrathful countenance of Kernuz, like a dove who, having 
aspired to soar up to heaven, has been suddenly arrested 
in her flight, and forced to alight on the warm ashes of a 
volcano. Kernuz, however, had no time for subtile com- 
parisons. Besides which, as we have said before, he put 
no faith in psychology. He resumed, angrily : 


THE CAPTAIN'S PIPE. 


115 


“Yes, look at me, if you like, as if you thought I was 
Providence itself, or the devil ! You won’t move me ; and 
you won’t frighten me ! ” 

“ I do not wish to frighten you, indeed,” said Madame 
Gosselin, in a low, sweet voice ; “ nor do I wish to move 
you,” added she, with proud humility. “ I only ask you 
to be just.” 

“ If I were just,” exclaimed Kernuz, shaking his fist at 
her, “ I should crush you like a viper ; for, old as you are, 
you have perversity enough in your heart, and hypocrisy 
enough in your looks, to tempt and torture an honest man ! 
I never trusted you ; and I was right. You had begun 
to try to humbug me ! Men are such fools ! Maybe you 
might have ended by making me as wretched as you made 
poor Gosselin. Poor fellow ! he warned me — he preserved 
me ! And I swear I will avenge him ! ” 

As the captain swore this -oath, his fingers clutched the 
stem of his long pipe too forcibly. He broke it. He 
stamped on its remains, as they lay upon the floor, with a 
sort of fury, roused partly by his own bad luck, and part- 
ly by the righteous wrath he felt on behalf of his friend. 

“ See there ! you bring me bad luck ! If I were super- 
stitious like Pornic, now, I should see a bad omen in that — 
a sign I was going to die.” 

The least little smile played round the lips of Madame 
Gosselin. Kernuz saw it, and shook his head like a bull 
in the arena maddened by a handerilla. 

“You are a creature utterly without heart ! ” he cried. 
“ I wept like a child when I heard of the death of poor 
Gosselin; and you, who bear his name — you, whom he loved 
so madly — you, who ought at least to feel remorse, if even 
you have forgotten the happy days you passed together — 
you cannot squeeze one lying tear out of your eyes ! ” 


116 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


“ Because I cannot lie, captain ; and I will not.” 

“ Let us see if you wall dare to say he lies, then.” 

And, sitting down at his table, Kernuz picked up Gos- 
selin’s letter. He began to read it in a sharp, loud tone, 
broken, however, by his strong emotion ; and Madame 
Gosselin stood listening, with her arms half-crossed upon 
her breast, a beseeching look in her eyes, and her mouth 
fixed into a smile cut short at its beginning. 

The letter opened thus : 

“ My dear old Friend : I write knowing that my 
death is near at hand. Of all the things I have picked 
up during my many voyages, I have nothing left but some 
poison that I purchased in Sumatra. It is said to be all- 
powerful. Its action is slow enough to give time for last 
words and last wishes, but rapid enough to cut short 
vain regrets. I shall take it when I have finished this 
letter. 

“I am weary of my struggle with myself, and dis- 
heartened by my weariness. Where can I find rest? 
With you ? I should trouble your peace — ^yet not regain 
my own. You will be sorry for my death ; but my mem- 
ory will find a resting-place in your remembrance, just 
as, to-mori’ow or the next day, my body will find one in 
the ocean. The news of my death will make the waves 
of your heart tremble, and make a little tempest in your 
soul ; but after the storm wdll come a calm, and my 
memory wdll remain at peace and rest with you. 

“ Would you tell me to seek peace in my owm family ? 
The family that Nature gave me is in the churchyard 
long ago ; the family the law ascribes to me is the cause 
of my shame and sorrow. My death wdll be the result of 
a most righteous hatred that I bear my wife, great as the 


THE CAPTAIN'S PIPE. II7 

love that I once bore her — a love that even now embitters 
my detestation and despair.” 

Here Captain Kernuz paused, and said to Madame 
Gosselin : 

“ Is that plain enough for you ? ” 

“ It is very plain,” she answered, “ that he once loved 
me — too much, I have no doubt — and that he ceased to 
love me.” 

She spoke of his love with a slight tremolo in her voice, 
and gave a low sigh as she admitted his hatred. 

‘‘Wait a bit!” resumed Kernuz, going on with the 
letter. 

“ ‘ George is not my son — ’ ” 

“ That is false ! ” interrupted Madame Gosselin. 

“ ‘ George is not my son,’ ” read Captain Kernuz, dwell- 
ing upon every syllable, “ ‘ and my wife told me so.’ ” 

The captain again broke off, and looked at the un- 
moved attitude and face of Madame Gosselin. 

“ Why do you deny to me,” he said, “ what you ad- 
mitted to your husband ? ” 

“ I had my reasons for letting him believe it.” 

“ Then you lied to him ? ” 

“ I was defending myself.” 

“ By accusing yourself of adultery ? ” 

To this coarse question Madame Gosselin deigned no 
answer ; not that she seemed embarrassed, but as if her 
modesty forbade her to make any reply. All her energy, 
however, was at work, perceptibly. Her presence of mind, 
which had been weakened by the discipline of her false 
practices of devotion, was aroused and in full vigor. All 
the woman in her was doing battle, all her feminine tact 
and ability were roused. Yet habit held its place, and a 
more acute observer than Captain Kernuz, with his percep- 


118 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


tions blunted by his rage, might have remarked a little mo- 
tion of her fingers, as if her first impulse was to have re- 
course to the beads of her rosary. 

Captain Kemuz went on reading Captain Gosselin’s 
narrative. He told, with strange regrets blended with 
imprecations, of his passion for his wife, and of his mar- 
riage. Her mother had been a West Indian, her father a 
native of Lower Brittany. She had inherited at once the 
creole languor and the Breton obstinacy. 

Her husband drew a most fascinating picture of her at 
the epoch of her marriage, which Captain Kernuz read 
without stopping even to take breath, and without looking 
up at Madame Gosselin, whose cheeks glowed with a faint 
pink tinge, while her unpleasant smile grew a little broader. 

Perhaps even at this terrible moment of detection, and 
under the hands of the deputed torturer, she was enjoy- 
ing the praise of her own beauty, in spite of its being 
coupled with the revelation of her dishonor. 

Her eyes — their color deepening and changing as he 
read — seemed as if her mind was full of visions ; and as 
Captain Kernuz read of the tortures of love, despair, and 
jealousy, she had inflicted upon her husband, she was 
thinking complacently of her lost sway, and possibly con- 
templating the fresh enslavement of her torturer. 

Captain Gosselin went on to say that he was not long 
left to the illusion of his happiness. He was constantly at 
sea, upon long voyages, and he implicitly trusted in his 
wife’s honor. 

But there are evidences of crime so direct and uncom- 
promising that no credulity can withstand them ; and 
when, returning one day unexpectedly to his home, he 
found his beautiful young wife in the very arms of a 
lover, he had been forced to recognize that there was 


THE CAPTAIN'S PIPE. 


119 

poison in her languid, creole smile, and that her Breton 
fidelity was treachery. 

“ I ought to have killed both of them upon the spot,” 
wrote Captain Gosselin. “But I thought I could take 
more fierce and bitter vengeance on them, by treating 
the lover as a burglar, having him arrested, and bringing 
him to trial as a thief^ In doing this, I was betrayed, out- 
witted, defeated, and deceived, by the guilty couple. In- 
stead of being crushed by such a situation, they accepted 
it. They submitted to the just punishment of their offense, 
as if it were a privilege to suffer together. 

“ The man made no defense upon his trial, and pleaded 
guilty to having entered my house as a thief. With keen 
reasoning he pointed out his guilt so clearly, that the 
Court was astonished at his impudence. My wife and he 
had held no communication, except by a glance from the 
dock to the witness-stand, and yet my wife bore false wit- 
ness against her lover. She swore to tell the truth, the 
whole truth, before God, and before the jury, and then she 
spoke and lied — lied shamelessly — that she might ever 
after be able to mock me with a sense of the base ven- 
geance I had taken in defense of my lost honor. I suf- 
fered more than my victims. 

“ The man, having pleaded guilty, was sent to the gal- 
leys. He must have been set at liberty about fifteen years 
ago. And while, without once faltering, he was paying the 
penalty of his intercourse with my wife, by undergoing 
the vile punishment of a base criminal, she, whom I could 
no longer accuse, took to practices of devotion, found pleas- 
ure in her life as a devote., and, beautiful as ever, calm, pa- 
tient, and serene, devoted to the duties of maternity, she 
tortured me beyond all bearing by her silence, her con - 
temptuous submission, and her charms. 


120 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


“ I had a son — at least I thought I had. The love I 
bore my beautiful, bright boy brought me again and again 
back to my home, and kept me under the influence of my 
wife’s bewitching beauty. How base and cowardly I 
was ! How base and cowardly I am still ! How cowardly 
and base she has the power to make her victims ! As I 
write, her image glides between the4)aper and my eyes. I 
see the vision of a woman still most beautiful, rejoicing in 
her deliverance from her husband, smiling at her son, dis- 
cussing his future welfare with his true father — the galley- 
slave, made so by myself ! Ah ! if I were on the spot 
to see them thus, I think I should kill them both. 

“ But in those days I still dreamed about forgiveness. 
My love for the child made me merciful. The guilt of my 
false accusation troubled me, and deprived me of all right 
to complain of my dishonor. Was I not guilty myself ? 
What right had I to be pitiless, even if my wife were cul- 
pable ? I tried to find reasons to excuse my indulgence, 
and I found many. I made use of my parental obligations 
to excuse my weakness, to justify the base but lingering 
love which sought to kneel before the idol that it had not 
broken and cast away. I went to sea ; I made one of my 
long voyages. AWien I was far off upon the ocean, my 
wife was ever before me in a sort of dream. I longed to 
see her in reality. I forgot the dreadful episode of the 
past. She came back to me, sweet, calm, divinely patient, 
holding by the hand the boy whose voice seemed recalling 
me home. 

“ I fancied at last that she, too, called me back — that 
she repented of the past,, but did not dare to tell me so, 
through modest reserve, and the fear of being supposed 
anxious to win me back again. 

“ I was a fool ! I cut short my voyage. I was faitli- 


THE CAPTAIN'S PIPE, 


121 


less to the interests confided to me. I came home, and as 
soon as I got back I wished myself away again — so great 
was my own horror at the weakness I displayed. 

“ At last, one day I took heart — or, rather, I was 
more beside myself than usual. I wanted to look into the 
hidden depths of her soul. I began solemnly to speak 
with her about the past. I tried to break through the 
crust of gentle pride which seemed to provoke my love 
and yet resist me. I tried to bring her — her, that ac- 
cursed woman' whom I loved — to penitence and tears and 
tenderness. 

“ I reproached her with her perfidy. I reproached her 
with her baseness, in not having at least, by speaking the 
truth, saved the man whom she once loved from the ig- 
nominy of the galleys. 

“ This stung her. I suppose that she must really have 
loved him. If he lives, perhaps she loves him still. I 
earnestly trust that he may hate her ! The idea of her 
caring for him now has been a bitter drop among my other 
poisons. Yes, she must have loved him, I suppose ; and 
yet she sacrificed him to me, whom she had never loved. 

“ Will you believe me, when I tell you what she an- 
swered when at last I roused her ? She spoke the truth 
for the first time — for the last time in her life. She knew 
I could not kill her after what I myself had done. She 
told me she had had two reasons for swearing falsely. In 
the first place, she wished to save the life of her son’s 
father ; in the second place, she wished to guard the 
honor of my name, borne by George. 

“ She took her revenge with the ferocity of feminine 
weakness. These words have made me wretched twenty 
years. I am dying of them now. At first I accused her 
of falsehood. She repeated her confession. She proved 
6 


122 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


to me that George was not my son. She shamed me by 
comparing me to his real father, who had submitted to 
bitter ignominy in the spirit of self-sacrifice, rather than 
that a stain should rest upon his son. 

“I say it again: she knew I dared not kill her where 
she stood. I left her. I swore that nothing ever should 
induce me to come back again. Yet I came back once 
more.” 

Here Captain Kernuz stopped, hardly supposing he had 
annihilated Madame Gosselin, but expecting that he had 
at least made her pale by a sense of the guilt brought 
home to her. 

But Madame Gosselin glowed with energy and passion. 
If the poor fellow lying at the bottom of the sea had 
seen her only once in her true character, he had bequeathed 
this marvelous spectacle to his friend Kernuz. There was 
no deception in her at this moment. Madame Gosselin 
was herself. Her eyes lighted up her face. Her mouth 
involuntarily wore a smile of long-restrained pride and 
passion. The heart, usually crystallized by hypocrisy, beat 
rapidly. 

She was unmoved now by any fear of the captain. 

“You see,” he said, “that you owned everything — 
even the true parentage of George.” 

“ Have you not just read. Captain Kernuz, that I did 
it for revenge ? My husband forced me to swear falsely 
on the trial. I revenged myself by a falsehood to my 
husband.” 

She said these words with the same frankness and con- 
fidence with which she had, a few minutes before, protested 
her sincerity. 

“If you did lie,” replied Kernuz, “you added base- 
ness to you rcruelty. But, no — you told the truth. I see 


THE CAPTAIN'S PIPE. 


123 


it in your eyes. I know a poisonous snake when I see 
one. I’ve killed them in all parts of the world. They 
are slow, but, when they coil and strike, they bite you 
without mercy. You coiled yourself ; you struck ; you 
fixed your fangs in him, and you were satisfied. You tor- 
tured Gosselin, and you told the truth.” 

It could not have been only his knowledge of snakes 
which enlightened the captain at this moment. Did sor- 
row and friendship give him an especial transient penetra- 
tion, or was his intuition another proof of the attraction 
he had felt only that very day ? 

He had the mastery of Madame Gosselin. She gave 
in. 

My husband forgave me ! ” she said, in a low voice, 
abandoning, with feminine tact and suddenness, her first 
position. 

“ No,” replied Kernuz, mollified by this skillful conces- 
sion, “ he came back once or twice to endeavor to assuage 
the suffering you were causing him. He detested you, 
although he deemed you very beautiful. He never par- 
doned you. Anyhow, if he did, he revoked his forgive- 
ness on his death-bed ; and I am his executor. I shall 
have no mercy.” 

“ God knows I have done nothing to deserve all this,” 
murmured the woman. 

“ Oh ! if you come to that,” cried the captain, with 
dangerous joviality, “if you begin to be religious, I 
know what you are after. Devil take me, if, with your 
big eyes, and your grand airs, and your courage, you had 
not almost forced me, just now, to admire you ! ” 

Madame Gosselin indulged in a perfect blaze of ironi- 
cal smiles. 

“ But,” said Kernuz, again picking up the letter from 


124 


MADAME aOSSELIN, 


the table, “you are wasting your time and your soft 
glances. I know you too well now. Listen to the dying 
words of my friend Gosselin, and then laugh if you dare. 
You’ll see if I forgive you. Poor fellow ! he knew more 
than I did. He writes like a man who has been at it all 
his life, and yet, with all his cleverness, he was your dupe ; 
and his beautiful style was of no use to him, except to 
tell me of his torments. Listen to this, will you.” 

The captain read as follows : 

“ What made me stay away after the last time I saw 
France, about seven years ago, was — would you believe it ? 
— the fear that I could not detest as I ought that child who 
was not mine : George, whom I loved in infancy as my 
own son, and who loved me in good faith as his father. 

“ Ah, Kernuz, my friend, we sailors think we know the 
sea ; and yet forgotten reefs, things neglected, things un- 
known, lie in wait for our craft in places where we least 
expect them, and set at nought all our experiences. Well, 
compared to a man’s heart, the sea is but a glass globe full 
of little fishes. I am amazed at my own immensity — at 
the deep places that I cannot fathom — at the monsters I 
perceive in my own soul. 

“ Yes ; this child, whom I ought to have cast forth with 
the mother who bore him, was still dear to me. When he 
spoke to me lovingly ; when he asked me questions, which 
showed his interest and great intelligence, about my voy- 
ages — about the sea — about the construction of ships, and 
the ways of managing them, I said to myself : ‘ After all, 
it is not his fault that he is not my son ! ’ and deep down 
in my heart stirred a leaven of tenderness, and I felt like 
holding on to this spar of the wreck of my home. 

“ This weakness might have been excusable had the 
mother not been there ; but I could see the scornful look 


THE CAPTAIN'S PIPE. 


125 


upon her face whenever she saw me deluding myself by 
my false dreams of an impossible paternity. 

‘‘I sailed away at last, resolved to venture back no 
more ; and with all my heart I hoped that the child, to 
whom I dared not give my blessing, might grow up an 
honest man. If he does so, he will surely some day be- 
come the instrument of his mother’s punishment, and com- 
plete the revenge I now bequeath to you. 

“ So I set sail from France. You fell in with me at Sai- 
gon, when I was greatly depressed. I was very near, when 
you greeted me so cordially, telling you all my secrets, and 
asking you to undertake to revenge my wrongs ; but I 
was afraid you would despise me for my weakness, and, 
above all, I feared I should repent of my confidence after 
you were gone. 

“ So, then, I became a wanderer on the ocean. I told 
you I was part-owner of my ship, and that the nature of 
my arrangements with my other owners gave me the right 
to keep her, as long as I thought best, at sea ; on the sole 
condition that I should touch occasionally at two points 
on the Asiatic and African coasts alternately, where my 
owners had an agency, and take a fresh cargo from the 
one to the other. 

“ I made more use than I had any right to do of this 
privilege. My voyages back and forth from these ports 
became monotonous. I stretched my limits, but I needed 
something bigger than the globe ; the world of waters was 
not wide enough for me. At last, when I perceived it 
was imperatively necessary I should make sail for France, 
I began, in my despair and horror, to cast about for ways 
to disappear. 

Forgive me, my dear friend, as you sit in judgment 
upon what I have to tell you next — you, a sailor who never 


126 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


forgot the obligations of our profession. I was a faith- 
less, treacherous captain, wanting in my obligations to 
my profession, even as I had been wanting in my obliga- 
tions as a man. 

Alas ! my wretched love has utterly demoralized me. 
Twice I tried to wreck my ship, forgetful of the interests 
confided to me — forgetful of what was due to the brave 
jnen who risked their lives with me. They pitied me ; they 
said, among themselves, that the captain had lost his reck- 
oning, but never once thought of mutiny, or of bringing 
me to justice. Twice I tried to die by accidents which 
might have concealed my suicide. But I lived on, through 
the perversity of that fate which makes a sport of men 
and of their happiness, in spite of those two disasters of 
which I should have to render a strict account, if I did 
not myself sign my death-warrant. 

“ Since wind and weather will not take me off, I am now 
about to die in superb weather, on a splendid night, upon 
a sea which, though often lashed to fury, is to-night as 
still as glass, seeming to invite me to my own destruction. 

‘‘We are off the coast of Ireland. I shall never step 
ashore. My Sumatra poison is infallible. I have seen the 
effects of it in the natives. What matter though the pain 
of such a death be horrible ? I feel impelled to cry aloud 
in mental torment ; shall I be less ashamed to shout forth 
in my physical suffering than in my mental agony ? 

“ I trust, my friend, that this account may not make 
you very unhappy. Remember, I can live no longer. 
Recollect, too, how often we have gazed down into the 
ocean’s depths, dreaming of our future bed on the green 
algae at the bottom, where we should sleep that sleep that 
has no dreams. 

“ My letter will find you in your beautiful home at 


THE CAPTAIN'S PIPE. 


127 


Kerantrec. I fancy I see you there. You have described 
it so often ; and I once, for a brief period, thought that 
perhaps I would come back and live with you there. But, 
no ; you would have to get rid of others, whom even now 
you will cast forth for my sake. Happy fellow ! happy 
sailor ! You gave up the sea at the age when her soli- 
tudes grow wearisome, and her illusions die away on the 
bosom of her waters, and you did not give up your love 
of that perfidious mistress for the sake of marriage. Live 
happily under the shade of your own trees, and pity friends 
who are still wanderers. 

“ I am about to sail into port. No longer need you 
wonder where my ship may be sailing on the chart of your 
memory. But do not grieve for me. If I escaped this 
time, you might grieve. I am going to my rest.” 

Here Kernuz stopped to wipe away a tear, with a quick 
brush of his hand, as if he feared he were not carrying 
out poor Gosselin’s wishes. Then he resumed : 

I send with this farewell — the last words of a friend 
who would have called himseK thy brother, had he not 
sinned by hiding from thee his secrets — some papers you 
had better keep. 

“ First, a copy of the proceedings of the court which 
condemned my wife’s lover as a burglar. I add a descrip- 
tion of the man, that you may know him should you meet 
him. 

“ I have no will to make. The little I possess is in the 

hands of X , the ship-owner at Nantes, according to 

the receipt that I inclose. Draw it out, and do what you 
please with it. 

“ If I were a good Christian, I suppose I ought with 
my dying breath to say that I forgive the woman who 
has been the death of me. But I cannot. I am not good 


128 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


enough. I do believe in God ; but my God is a God of 
justice, who will permit you to avenge me after I am 
gone. 

“You took my wife home to you. Cast the adulteress 
forth without pity. 

“ You have been a friend to my son. Disown the bas- 
tard. Let him find out his own father. 

“ He may keep my name so long as he bears it credit- 
ably ; but let him understand this is only a permission, 
not a legacy. 

“Perhaps he will decline to take the benefit of this 
subterfuge to secure his etat civil. If he does, let him give 
me up — as I give him up. Let him make himself a name ; 
and, henceforward, let no gravestone bear the name of 
Gosselin. I shall carry it with me down into the deep. 

“ I beg you to be kind to the sailor who will give you 
this letter. He has been much devoted to me : please to 
reward him. 

“ Farewell, old shipmate ! Go sometimes and look out 
to sea from the Point de Gavres toward the coast of Ire- 
land, and fancy that the most distant billow on the hori- 
zon is my gravestone. Do you recollect how, when we 
were almost boys, we used to look out over the sea, and 
fancy things in the far-off horizon ? Dream such dreams 
for us both. I am about to plunge into reality — I trust 
into annihilation. If not into that, at least into a purga- 
tory from which those who have so long tortured me will 
be shut out.” 

Here Captain Kernuz stopped ; the letter had a few 
more lines, but he was too choked to read them. He 
paused, lest Madame Gosselin should have the satisfaction 
of hearing him sob. 


CAPTAIN GOSSNLIN AVENGED. 


129 


CHAPTER X. 

CAPTAIN GOSSELIN AVENGED. 

A SILENCE succeeded the reading of the letter. Cap- 
tain Kernuz by this time was rather proud of his own 
emotion, which had at first embarrassed him. He raised 
his face, all red and streaked with tears, and looked up at 
the widow with a tragical contortion of countenance, in 
which he seemed trying to express anger and contempt, in 
harmony with the anger and contempt expressed in the 
letter of Gosselin. 

The widow stood quietly before him. Some emotion 
was betrayed by a slight moisture on her forehead, which 
she dared not wipe away. She was bracing herself for the 
coming struggle. She broke the armistice. 

“ Can I go. Captain Kemuz ? ” she asked, softly. 

“ I shall keep you no longer, either in my room or in 
my house. Do you hear me ? ” replied the captain, roughly, 
endeavoring to disguise, by this rude and cruel speech, the 
emotion which glistened in his eyes. 

Madame Gosselin turned toward the door. The cap- 
tain went on : 

“ If there is any house at Kerantrec or Lorient that 
will take you in, you can go there this evening.” 

“ There is the church-porch,” said the devote, promptly, 
with admirable tact and resignation. 

Though there was no tone of irony in this reply, it 
hurt the captain’s feelings. He felt it to contain a kind 
of reproach. 

“ Never mind ; to-morrow will do as well. You can 


130 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


stay the night here ; to-morrow you can leavh with your 
son.” 

‘‘ With my son ? ” 

‘‘ Of course. You don’t suppose that in this matter I 
intend to go contrary to the directions of Gosselin ? ” 

‘‘ But George never injured my husband ! ” 

‘‘Didn’t he?” 

Madame Gosselin paused, and, without drawing nearer 
' to the captain, said : 

“ Only this morning you were so fond of George.” 

“ Of course I was — and so was Gosselin. But I should 
wrong the memory of my old friend if I hesitated to carry 
out his last directions.” 

“Those directions are only binding with respect to 
me,” replied Madame Gosselin, clasping her hands with 
sincere fervency. 

“I can make no distinctions. You must both go.” 

“ Poor fellow ! ” 

“It is too late to pity him — especially now he has 
grown to be a man.” 

“ Remember, captain, he knows nothing of all this — he 
suspects nothing.” 

“ He will now have an opportunity to show his heart 
and courage. If he loves you, he may not utterly despise 
you.” 

Struck to the heart by this blow, Madame Gosselin 
covered her eyes with her hands, and murmured : 

“ I did not think of that.” 

“You ought to have thought of it.” 

“ He will die of it.” 

“That is, maybe, the very best thing that he can 
do.” 

“ Ah ! captain, you are more pitiless than my husband 


CAPTAIN GOSSELIN AVENGED. 


131 


would have been.” Then she added, with real humility, 
“ All the kindness that you intended to show George — ” 

“ I’ll have nothing more to do with him,” interrupted 
the captain. “ To-morrow I am going to my lawyers to 
have the deed of partnership torn up, and to revoke my 
will. As for the money I was to settle on him at his mar- 
riage, it will stay in my strong box. Some of these days, 
maybe, I shall chance upon some other old shipmate’s 
legitimate son, with a mother who has no cause to blush 
before her child, and who would be glad of my money.” 

Madame Gosselin came close up to Captain Kernuz. 
Seizing his rugged fists in her white hands, before he knew 
what she was about, she cried : 

“You will not do this cruel thing ! You will not do 
it ! ” with tones so genuine, so earnest, and so soft, that 
for a moment the captain was overcome. 

“ Why won’t I do it ? ” he replied, in a voice that was 
still fierce, but less so than before. 

‘‘ Because you would ruin the future of a young man 
who loves you ; who has great talent — genius even ; who 
will make every man who helps him proud of him ; who de- 
serves to have his mother’s sins forgotten for his sake, and 
who himself is innocent.” 

“ I could never be proud of the lad who caused the 
death of my old shipmate. *He loved poor Gosselin ; did 
that keep Gosselin from killing himself? I won’t have 
him love me. I would rather have him hate me. Most 
likely his own father is alive ; let him look him up, and 
try to love him.” 

“ Ah ! Captain Kernuz, only this morning you were 
spreading the news of his approaching marriage.” 

“I am not hindering his marriage. M. Mauroy can 
give him his daughter, if he likes ; but he is not to count 


132 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


upon my money. George has talent ; let him make use 
of it.” 

“ He loves the young lady.” 

“ Loves, indeed ! Don’t talk to me of love! You 
wretched woman ! love led you into crime — love has been 
your ruin.” 

“ True, I am ruined — I am a wretched woman ! ” re- 
plied Madame Gosselin, with an air of submission yet of 
energy, which made her really beautiful. “ Strike me ! I 
accept your blow. Yes, I was guilty ; but I was only 
twenty. I was young. People said I was handsome. My 
nature was passionate ; my head was full of dreams. I 
was wrong to have married a sailor who was constantly 
away from me on long voyages. I loved another — an- 
other, who deserved my love. Ah ! my life has been fully 
as unhappy as my husband’^. He thought so himself, did 
Captain Gosselin. I have home, for the sake of him who 
gave his life for me, a burden of shame and infamy. I 
helped him, at his own wish, to be condemned for robbery. 
I sent my love to the galleys ; but in this joint sacrifice I 
acted not for my own sake, or for his sake, but for my 
son’s. Ho one has ever cast a slur upon his name. He has 
grown up noble and pure, in spite of this dishonor. If, in 
a fit of anger, candor, or revenge, I owned it all to Cap- 
tain Gosselin, who was endeavoring to humble me — a 
man whose pardon was as repugnant to me as a fresh dis- 
honor — perhaps I merited your approval. I deserved some 
allowance for my spirit, rather than to have it brought 
against me as a crime. But now, in strict seclusion from 
the world, and in practices of devotion, I will wear mourn- 
ing for Captain Gosselin. I own that I was culpable tow- 
ard him ; but I alone was guilty. Why punish George ? 
Ah ! M. Kernuz, you are kind-hearted ; you always were 


CAPTAIN GOSSELIN AVENGED, 


133 


most kind to me ; you spoke to me with even more than 
kindness only this morning — ” 

The unhappy woman tried to smile through real tears 
this time, which flowed fast from her eyes. This time, too, 
her coquetry had its excuse in her maternal feelings. But 
it was in vain. The captain blushed at the allusion to his 
gallantry, and grew provoked at the tears which he be- 
lieved — or wished to believe — feigned. 

“You are wrong,” he said, stamping his foot, “to re- 
mind me of my weakness. I have done with it. What is 
said, is said. Both of you will go to-morrow morning. I 
do not choose to see George, unless you wish me to read 
him this letter from Captain Gosselin.” 

“ No, no. Captain Kemuz ! ” 

“ You can give him any explanation you think proper 
of my conduct. Parbleu ! I know I have the reputation, 
in this part of the world, of being a rough, capricious old 
fellow.” 

“ You are considered eminently just.” 

“ I deserve it.” 

“ Not so. You strike before you judge.” 

“ I am carrying out a sentence in this matter. Poor 
Gosselin was your judge. These are his orders.” 

“ He was an unjust judge ! ” cried Madame Gosselin, 
tossing her head back suddenly. “ He never remembered 
that he was in a measure responsible for my fault ; and for 
the perjury that I committed, he was as much to blame 
as I was. I accuse him back again.” 

“ This is too bad ! ” cried Kemuz, whom Madame Gos- 
selin’s angry words put once more at his ease with her. 
“ You murder him, and then insult his memory.” 

“ If he killed himself, it was from remorse as much as 
sorrow.” 


134 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


“ What a woman you are ! ” 

“Yes, true — I am a woman. That explains every- 
thing.” 

“ You mean, a monster ! ” 

“ No — a woman who might have been virtuous, had she 
loved the man whom her father forced upon her as her hus- 
band ; a woman capable of loving with her whole soul ; 
who ruined herself by her faithfulness to her love ; a 
woman who braved the ignoble vengeance of her husband, 
and defied him ; a woman who has been devoted to her 
son ; who only lives for him ; who now offers to die for 
him, if you but speak the word, and say her death will de- 
liver George from the shame and grief which will either 
kill or ruin him ! ” 

This was said with a rapid, trembling voice, threaten- 
ing rather than beseeching. 

“ What ! you think of killing yourself, then ? ” asked 
Kernuz, contemptuously. 

“Yes.” 

“You — the dhote!"^^ 

“ I would take upon my conscience even so great a sin,” 
replied Madame Gosselin, with her air of piety. 

“ It would not be your greatest.” 

“ You are right, Captain Kernuz, and I may have to 
commit a greater still.” 

As Madame Gosselin spoke, her air grew stiff and cold, 
and she looked full in the face of the captain. 

He was amazed. 

“ Now I see the viper coiling itself before it strikes, 
just as poor Gosselin did,” said he ; “ but I will do what 
my poor friend did not — I’ll crush it ! ” 

“ I think not.” 

“ Strike at me, then ! ” 


CAPTAIN GOSSELIN AVENGED. 


135 


Doubtless Madame Gosselin was tempted to respond, 
“ I will try,” but she closed her lips firmly, while an in- 
describable sneer of hate, disdain, and menace spread over 
her features. 

She dropped her eyes, resumed her usual mask, and, 
turning, said : 

“ Farewell, Captain Kernuz ! ” 

“ I wish you good-day,” growled the captain. 

‘‘ You may think better of it before morning, cap- 
tain,” continued Madame Gosselin, turning her head as 
she went toward the door of the apartment. 

“ I have no need to think twice. My dead friend had 
sufficiently made up his mind.” 

“ Will you not see George ? ” 

‘‘ No.” 

“ You mean to go and see the lawyer ? ” 

« Yes.” 

“You intend to do all you have just sworn you would?” 
“ Yes. Since I have once sworn it, of course I will ! ” 
“ Beware ! ” 

“ Of what ? ” 

“ Of your remorse.” 

“Oh, I shall feel no remorse, I promise you ! ” 

“Ah ! ” 

This exclamation was a long, deep sigh ; it expressed 
submission, coquetry, and wrath. Then, with a slow step, 
she reached the door. She opened it. On the threshold 
she stopped, and turned again; then, in a tone persuasive- 
ly gentle and sweet, she said : 

“ Adieu, Captain Kernuz ! ” 

The captain waved his hand with a gesture which 
seemed to express, “ Go to the devil, rather than d Dieu / 
The door closed. 


136 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


The captain drew a long breath, like a man who has 
ended a painful task ; then he read over some passages in 
Gosselin’s letter. 

‘‘ No, no,” he said, “ indulgence were but treason to 
his memory. So much the worse for George.” 

He folded up the letter, put it into his large pocket- 
book with all the papers that belonged to it, and made 
several strides across his room. As he did so the frag- 
ments of his pipe cracked under his feet. He started, and 
stood still. 

^^Allons done ! Who thinks I am afraid ? ” he said, 
in a whisper. 

He wanted to make light of the bad omen. He looked 
at the broken pieces, stirred them with his foot, and said 
to himself : 

“ I must have been very angry, but not more so than I 
meant to be. I should like to know how she will an- 
nounce this matter to her son. Never mind ! I had rather 
not see him. I will go out very early, before they do. I 
won’t come home till they are out of the house. I should 
be worried by the noise of their moving. Yes, indeed, I 
was perfectly right. One has to be inexorable. I mean 
to be so.” 

With these words, and this conviction. Captain Kernuz, 
who felt very uncomfortable nevertheless, got himself a 
fresh pipe out of his repository, not daring to summon 
Pornic. Then he bolted his room-door, and prepared him- 
self for bed, where he probably dreamed of his friend 
Gosselin. 


TWO SCENES ON A FINE NIGHT. 


137 


CHAPTER XL 

TWO SCENES ON A FINE NIGHT. 

Madame Gosselin paused before tbe door she had 
just closed, and remained a moment motionless. 

Her face, across which a gleam of moonshine fell from 
the staircase- window, became of a ghost-like paleness ; 
her eyes dilated, and seemed to be aflame. She looked 
before her ; her looks appeared to pierce the veiy walls, 
and to be kindling by their sparks, in the far distance, 
an awful conflagration. Her lips were pressed together ; 
they had grown suddenly thin, and there was something 
that seemed like a covert threat in their expression. Her 
hands were clasped, but her fingers were pressed tight to- 
gether, as if to prevent them forcibly from making some 
threatening gesture. 

She looked as if walking in her sleep. Xo one saw 
her at that moment, but any one who had seen her would 
have recalled the speech of Lady Macbeth’s waiting gen- 
tlewoman, as she sees her pass her fast asleep, with a taper 
in her hand: “ I would not have such a heart in my bosom, 
for the dignity of the whole body ! ” 

Madame Gosselin’s heart was heavy as lead. She 
carried it wearily into her own chamber, mounting the 
staircase like an automaton, deadly pale, walking straight 
onward, with her hands clasped and her head stiffly 
erect. 

In a quarter of an hour she came down again, wrapped 
in her cloak, and stepping noiselessly from stair to stair. 
As she passed by Captain Kernuz’s door she gave a noise- 


138 


MADAME GOSSEim. 


less laugh, and her lips curled, like those of a wild beast 
sniffing its prey. 

The house was not yet closed ; it was not late. The 
breakfast-party had lasted so long, that the household 
had dispensed with dinner and supper ; but time had not 
moved faster. 

As Madame Gosselin crossed the garden on her way 
out, she came suddenly on Pomic. 

The sailor and the widow disliked each other. They 
looked at each other with mistrustful eyes in the clear 
moonlight ; but Pomic, seeing Madame Gosselin look so 
ill, had a sudden twinge of pity. He thought of the sad 
news that had made his master weep, and, knowing noth- 
ing of the contents of poor Gosselin’s testamentary epis- 
tle, he thought his wife was grieving for his loss, and 
drew back with a sudden feeling of commiseration. 

“ Are you going to meet M. George ? ” he said. 

“Ho. Then you know — ” 

“ Yes, madame, I know that Captain Kernuz will never- 
more expect his friend to rejoin him.” 

“ It is a great misfortune, M. Pomic,” she said, in a 
low voice, which Pomic found touching and sad. 

He was moved more than he could have expected by 
the tone in which she addressed him. He knew, of course, 
that Captain Gosselin had been so long absent, that the 
news of his death could be hardly more distressing to her 
than the news that he had undertaken another long cruise; 
but, being a sailor, he felt professionally flattered by the 
solemn mournfulness that he imagined he perceived in 
Madame Gosselin’s air and countenance. 

He stepped aside to let the widow pass, not daring to 
question her, but she divined his curiosity. 

“ I am going to church,” she said. 


TWO SCENES ON A FINE NIGHT. 


139 


Pornic bowed, and then he involuntarily cast a glance 
up at the stars, as if to question whether the church was 
still open. 

“ To-morrow is the festival of the saint the church is 
named from,” continued Madame Gosselin. “ There is 
general confession, and a meeting of all the guilds this 
evening.” 

Pornic understood, and at this very moment the bell 
began to ring gently, as if to hurry tardy worshippers. 

Madame Gosselin drew her cloak about her, lowered 
her head, and passed on. 

Pornic looked after her all down the garden, and his 
eyes followed her, when she left it, along the road that led 
to the new church of Kerantrec. Grief is always an at- 
tractive mystery to an observer. 

The moon spread out its whiteness like a shroud, into 
which the black form of Madame Gosselin passed, with a 
black shadow gliding after her. 

Pornic had some poetry in his temperament — a thing 
that he himself had never dreamed of. He was, besides, 
too old a sailor not to feel the majesty of one of those 
glorious summer nights, which make one fancy himself in 
the midst of some vast solitude, and seem to bring to light 
the very secrets of our souls ; and as he contemplated this 
severe funereal picture, he heard the sound of a gay young 
voice coming along the other road. It was humming a 
tune, and the irregular way in which it gave forth the 
notes seemed to testify of breathless gayety finding a 
vent in song, but unwilling to profane its secret by rude 
laughter. 

It was George, coming back after escorting home M. 
Mauroy and his daughter. He had stopped for a brief 
visit at M. Pleumeur’s, thinking he would relieve himself 


140 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


a little of his great happiness, and had only increased his 
sense of bliss. Upon this happy evening, the cold, reserved 
congratulations of his old tutor added, by contrast, to the 
expansiveness of his love, his pride, and his gratitude. 

For his sake it was that the moon shone so brightly 
and the heavens were so blue. The white road he had 
passed over gleamed behind him with a sort of virginal 
brightness. From time to time he stopped to breathe the 
salt air of the ocean, and in it he imagined he could dis- 
tinguish the slight swash made by the tide against the 
hull of La Belle Cleopatre, as she rode lazily at anchor, 
sending him a friendly greeting — a kind word, such as 
Galatea might have whispered to Pygmalion when he 
gave her life. 

Life ! Was not George enjoying it in its fullest meas- 
ure ? Heaven, and earth, and sea, and men, were kind to 
him. He felt his temples throbbing with great discoveries, 
ideas in his young mind just coming into flower, genius 
budding in his brain. The love of Berthe Mauroy, the 
affection of M. Pleumeur, the fatherly generosity of Cap- 
tain Kernuz, enchanted him, and put fire and music in 
his veins. His soul within him glowed with faith sublime, 
and chanted its paean to youth, love, and labor. 

He found Pornic leaning against the iron railing of 
the garden. He rushed eagerly up to him, meaning to 
talk of his own happiness ; then, seeing how grave the old 
sailor looked, he felt half-ashamed of his own immense 
bliss. 

“ Is it not a beautiful night, Pornic ? ” he said. “ And 
has it not been a glorious day ? ” 

Then he drew in a breath of the odors of the garden, 
which were added to all the other vague perfumes of the 
air and sea. 


TWO SCENES ON A FINE NIGHT 


141 


“Yes,” muttered the old sailor, who felt troubled by 
the gayety which to-morrow would be quenched in sorrow, 
“ too beautiful a night, too glorious a day.” 

“ Bah ! Nature is never too beautiful — any more than 
men are ever too kind.” 

“ Yet there are tempests, shipwrecks, and bad people 
in this world.” 

“ Look at the sky. We shall have fine weather at least 
for the next fortnight.” 

“ There may be trains of powder that we do not look 
for, which may explode when we do not expect it.” 

“Is your warning meant for me, Pornic?” pursued 
George, bursting out laughing, and much amused at the 
dark prognostication. “ For a long time past I have taken 
it into my head you did not like me. But you must like 
me, and love me too, you know. I intend that every one 
shall love me.” 

“I never hated you, M. George,” said Pornic, in a 
tone of pity. 

“ I defy you to hate me ! Captain Kernuz would not 
let you. Is he out this evening ? ” 

“ No ; he is in his own room.” 

“ So he is. I see his light through the blinds. I will . 
go in and say ‘good-night’ to him. I have not had a 
chance to thank him enough for all his kindness to me.” 

“ No, no. Don’t go into his room,” said Pornic, lay- 
ing his hand upon the young man’s arm, and stopping 
him. 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ He said nobody was to come in. He is tired.” 

“ I only want to press his hand, Pornic.” 

“ I tell you, my orders were positive.” 

“ Is my mother in her room ? ” 


142 


MADAME G0S8ELIN. 


‘‘ No ; she is out.” 

“ Did she go out to meet me ? ” 

‘‘No ; she went to church.” 

George, rather surprised, gave a little laugh, not of 
derision, hut of filial gratitude. 

“ That was right. After so much happiness, it is well 
to think of thankfulness. I came singing along the road, 
Pornic, and Heaven, I am sure, might almost accept such 
songs in lieu of prayers. They came from the joy of my 
heart.” 

George spoke in a loud voice, with animated gestures, 
and the last words had a ring that frightened Pomic. 

“ Hush ! M. George,” he cried ; “ not so loud.” 

“Why not?” 

“ Captain Kernuz ! Perhaps he may he asleep.” 

“ You are quite right. If he dreams, he is dreaming 
of those whom he has made so happy. We must not 
wake him.” 

George gave a deep sigh. 

“ It is a pity I cannot embrace somebody before I go 
to sleep ! Give me your hand, Pomic.” 

The old sailor, much moved, held down his head, and 
George gave a vigorous squeeze to his hard, horny hand. 

“ Listen, Pomic,” he said, with an emotion which tem- 
pered his youthful gayety ; “ I know you were jealous of 
my mother and myself when we first came here. Are 
you convinced, now, that we have done our best to merit 
the esteem and justify the kindness of your master ? ” 

Pornic was embarrassed. He thought he ought to say 
“Yes,” but a sudden remembrance of the fierce anger Cap- 
tain Kernuz had expressed on receiving Gosselin’s letter 
somehow prompted him to say “ No.” He made a doubtful 
sign of his head. But George took it in the affirmative. 


TWO SCENES ON A FINE NIGHT. 


143 


“ Now I am going to set to work in earnest,” resumed 
tke young engineer, again squeezing Pornic’s hand ; “ La 
Belle Cleopatre was only the beginning. I want to build 
a big ship, and call it the ‘ Captain Kernuz.’ It shall be on 
my own plan — my chef W oeuvre. I have already got the 
consent of M. Mauroy. Keep the secret from Captain 
Kernuz. What a pity my father — ” 

He paused, sighed, and looked into the heavens, not 
to get rid of the sad thoughts which had passed over his 
happy mood, but to take heaven to witness that his great 
happiness, so complete to all appearance, had nevertheless 
one flaw. He felt as if it would he only just that Heaven 
should perfect what was nearly so already. 

Pomic, too, saw a vision of the dead man in his ham- 
mock at the bottom of the sea, and he drew back his 
hand. 

“ Forgive me, M. George,” he said, “ if I have ever 
been unjust toward you. Now-a-days, I swear I am no 
longer jealous ; and if I could spare you any grief by cut- 
ting off this old right hand that you have just shaken, I 
would do so.” 

‘‘Ah, Pornic, there’s another proof of how kind peo- 
ple are ; even old sharks like you are kind to me ! ” 

Pomic did not contradict him. He looked up with 
involuntary fear at the window where his master’s taper 
was still shining, and only said : 

“ Good-night, M. George.” 

“ I am dreadfully afraid I shall not sleep. I have a 
great mind to spend the whole night in the garden ; the 
weather is so fine.” 

“ That is just what I shall not allow you to think of 
doing,” said Pornic, in a friendly tone ; “ you would just 
keep on singing and dreaming aloud. Nothing but the 


144 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


nightingales are at liberty to make a noise at night in this 
garden.” 

Pornic, in truth, had a charitable dread lest Madame 
Gosselin, on her return from church, might find her son 
out-doOrs, and tell him the sad news, which he need not 
otherwise learn till the next morning — especially as those 
were Captain Kernuz’s orders. 

George gave up his project with a laugh. When peo- 
ple are very happy they are generally docile. 

“ I hope you won’t forbid me to keep my window 
open ? ” he said to Pomic, turning toward the vestibule. 

Pornic remained alone in the garden. He waited a 
long time, and although, as a Breton and a sailor, he had 
great respect for everything belonging to the church, he 
grumbled as he walked up and down the broadest gravel- 
walk. 

‘‘ Preserve us from women who are so devoted to the 
duties of religion ! ” he said. “ They go to confession every 
week, and they have as much to tell as if they hadn’t seen 
a priest for ten years. Anyhow, I guess she has to take 
some time confessing her late wrongs to Captain Gosselin.” 

Pornic, notwithstanding this little slap at Madame 
Gosselin, was under a double spell that evening, from the 
happy gayety of George and the majestic grief of the 
widow. 

To keep up enmity toward people who are mourning 
over a late death, seems in some sort defying death itself, 
and this evening Pornic felt disposed to make all possible 
amends for the past — to give up his old prejudices, to 
renounce all his hostilities, with the proviso that he might 
resume them, if he liked, when he was in a less susceptible 
mood. 

Through all his emotion came the constant thought of 


TWO SCENES ON A FINE NIGHT. 


145 


that hitter cry from his captain, “ Those wretches ! Oh, 
those wretches ! ” But how could he imagine those words 
could possibly apply to a handsome, exemplary young man, 
full of honor, candor, talent, and kindliness, whom Cap- 
tain Kernuz loved, esteemed, and was about to endow in 
marriage ? If he meant Madame Gosselin, Pornic, though 
he was no grammarian, knew well enough that, in uttering 
a curse against a female. Captain Kernuz would have used 
the feminine article, and have said, La miserable!'^'* 

The captain’s window had not been hermetically closed 
during his conversation with Madame Gosselin, and Por- 
nic, who, though he was not listening, would have been 
well pleased to overhear all he could, had once or twice 
heard raised voices, but they were hushed almost immedi- 
ately. They were not in the key which ordinarily an- 
nounced the rage of Captain Kernuz. He concluded, 
therefore, that though his master might have been very 
angry about Gosselin’s death, it could hardly have been 
with Madame Gosselin. 

Pornic could not know that, more than once during the 
contest between the widow and the captain, Kernuz had 
been upon the point of surrendering to her bold attempts 
at fascination — attempts which owed their ultimate failure 
only to their partial and premature success. 

He was, therefore, well-disposed toward her, and when at 
the end of two hours she was still absent, he grew uneasy. 

‘‘ I wonder — poor woman ! — if she can be ill ? ” he said. 
“ I will go out and look for her.” 

He closed the garden-gate, and put the key in his 
pocket. He took the path which comes out upon the road 
to Brest, on which was built (between 1849 and 1854) the 
beautiful church of Kerantrec. 

He met nobody, and when he arrived at the open space 
7 


146 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


before the cburch, he was very much astonished to see no 
lights through the front windows. He went up to the 
great door. It was fastened. He walked round the build- 
ing, looking for some smaller entrance, and trying to see if 
some side chapel were not still lighted. 

But, except for one side-window gleaming with a 
twinkling light which proclaimed a lamp burning before 
the altar of the Virgin, the church was entirely dark. All 
the doors were closed and locked ; and in the moonlight 
he could see that neither on the steps of the principal en- 
trance, nor on those of the side-doors, nor on the benches 
round the portico, had anybody sought shelter, rest, or 
protection. 

The vigils and confessions of the guilds were evidently 
over long ago. One can sometimes almost feel as if there 
were degrees in silence, and this silence around the church 
was profound. 

Why had not Madame Gosselin returned home ? There 
was but one road she could have taken to reach the villa, 
and Pornic was very certain he had not encountered a soul 
as he came along. 

He grew more anxious. His disquietude was compli- 
cated by a feeling of curiosity, not altogether flattering to 
Madame Gosselin, in spite of his present kindly disposition 
toward her. 

He walked back very slowly, looking to the right and 
left, and around every corner. 

When he at length got opposite the iron railing of the 
villa, he perceived Madame Gosselin seated on one of two 
blocks of granite at the gate, and waiting patiently. She 
was even paler than when she went out ; the moonlight 
gave her face the livid look of a dead body. 

“ I thought you had all gone to bed,” she said, in a 


TWO SCENES ON A FINE NIGHT. 147 

calm and even voice. “ I rang, and, as nobody came, I 
thought you were not going to open the door.” 

“ W ould you have staid out here all night ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

‘‘All night?” 

“All night.” 

Pornic, astonished and confused by this mark of resig- 
nation, which he took for a reproach to himself, sought 
her pardon. 

“ I have been out to search for you,” he said. 

The widow glanced up with a vague look of anxiety. 

“ Where have you been ? ” she said. 

“ To church.” 

“ Oh ! I left church half an hour ago.” 

“ I knew it.” 

“ Yes,” said the widow ; “ on leaving church, I stopped 
to say a few prayers at the chapel of Saint Christopher. 
For sailors’ wives that is the true parish. There were 
miracles worked there in old times. There were people 
praying there this evening. It is a good way off, and I 
came back by the river-road. I was very sad, and* I hoped 
to shake off some of my depression in the open air. I ask 
your pardon, M. Pornic, for having made you anxious 
about me.” 

^N'ever before had Madame Gosselin addressed so many 
words at a time to the old sailor. Pornic attributed her 
effusion to her grief, and was really grateful. 

“You need not make any excuses, Madame Gosselin,” 
^e said, opening the grille. “ I only did my duty in sit- 
ting up, and in going out to look for you. Am I not in 
your service, as I am in that of Captain Kernuz ? Is not 
this house your own ? ” 

Madame Gosselin, who had gone ahead a few steps. 


148 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


turned quickly and looked at Pornic, to be sure that he 
was speaking in good faith. The honest sailor was quite 
sincere, and answered the questioning look of the widow 
by a friendly smile, meant to confirm her in the idea that 
henceforward he would be to her what Captain Kernuz 
had always wished him to be. 

She thanked him by a bend of her head, asked after 
her son, and went toward the vestibule. 

When she had reached the shadow cast by the porch 
of the front door, a window on the first story opened, and 
Captain Kernuz put out his head. 

“ Is that you, Pomic ? ” 

“Yes, captain.” 

“ Is everybody in bed ? ” 

Pornic was about to say “ Ko.” Madame Gosselin 
made him a sign, only seen by himself. It was one of en- 
treaty not to tell the captain. 

“Yes, captain,” said the sailor, in rather an uncertain 
tone. 

“All right, then. You will come to my room the first 
thing in the morning. I am going out at five o’clock.” 

“ Ay, ay, captain ! ” 

The sash and the blinds of the window were closed 
with considerable noise. 

Pornic joined Madame Gosselin, where she stood in 
the shadow. 

“ You made me tell a lie,” he said, in a low voice. 

“I was afraid Captain Kernuz might scold me.” 

“ Scold you, madame — upon such a day ! ” 

“ I daresay I was wrong. But never mind ; such a 
falsehood was no great sin. I will do penance for it.” 

“ Oh, I don’t care much about that ! ” replied the sailor, 
going into the house, and beginning to fasten the front door. 


MADAME G0S8ELIN ALONE. 


149 


CHAPTER XII. 

MADAME GOSSELIN ALONE. 

Madame Gosselin, after Pornic had lighted her to 
the foot of the stairs, ascended to her own room, in all the 
serenity of a Christian woman who has by devotion puri- 
fied her sorrow. 

But as soon as she was alone, with her door closed, and 
in complete darkness — for the blinds, were shut and the 
curtains drawn — she felt about her for a chair, sat down on 
it, or, more properly, dropped into it, and remained for a 
few minutes motionless, breathless, spent, exhausted ; hut 
her extreme fatigue could hardly he accounted for solely 
by the long detour she had made on returning to the villa. 

Madame Gosselin’s thoughts, incapable of expression at 
first, seethed through her brain ; then she grew afraid of 
her own silence, as if that silence were a sort of moral 
darkness, blacker than the actual darkness that surrounded 
her ; and she spoke half -aloud, to break the spell and to 
regain her courage : 

“I had better have fallen into the river,” she said. 
“ Why would he not let me die ? I offered to die. He 
thinks we are both necessary to George. To die is easy ! 
How shall I ever live after to-morrow ? ” 

She rose up and went straight to the fireplace, where 
she lighted a bougie. The scratching noise, as she moved 
a candlestick upon the marble mantel-piece, made her start. 
She stopped, and murmured : 

“ What is the use ? ” 

She stood up, leaning against the mantel-piece, with 
her hands hanging down by her sides. She remained thus 


150 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


a long time. She had gone down into deep waters ; she 
struggled up slowly, with an anguish that she tried in vain 
to overcome by sarcasm and mockery ; it was stronger than 
she. 

“ Pornic knows nothing of what passed between us,” 
she said. “ He came to look for me at church. Suppose 
he had followed me ! He thinks I have just come from 
confession ; but I have come from hell ! Ah, I have 
sealed my own damnation this time! No absolution is 
possible ! ” 

She drew her rosary from the pocket of her gown. 
For the first time the beads seemed to burn her fingers. 
She handled them angrily ; she shook them ; but they did 
not inspii’e her with the remembrance of her usual devo- 
tional formulas. She flung them on a table. 

“ What’s the use ? ” she said again. 

She began walking up and down her room, but she 
was terrified by the sound of her own footsteps. Then 
she stopped suddenly, remembering that Captain Kemuz, 
whose chamber was beneath hers, would perhaps hear her, 
and wonder what she was doing. 

Her thoughts rapidly flew back from that remembrance 
to the captain. She tried to recollect his exact attitude 
during their interview. After the first sentences, she had 
looked for more violence from him. She had been sur- 
prised at not having been more insulted, more spurned, 
more trampled on, by this rough man, whom she had seen 
repeatedly in savage fits of anger. Twice or thrice, in- 
deed, he had perceptibly hesitated in his denunciations 
against her, and this hesitation in carrying out the last 
orders of her husband she could attribute only to the 
remembrance of certain passages between them. 

She undressed herself slowly and thoughtfully in the 


MADAME G08SELIN ALONE, 


151 


darkness. When she had taken off her outer garments, 
and stood with her hair floating loosely over her back and 
shoulders, and her bare anns crossed on her half-covered 
bosom, she had a sudden, strange impulse to look at her- 
self in a glass, and to judge of her own beauty. Then 
she put the wish aside as a temptation, but, moved by 
the same impulse, passed her hand over her throat, her 
face, her arms, thinking, as she did so, of the fascination 
she had exerted over Captain Kemuz, almost to the point 
of making him hesitate to execute his commission of re- 
venge. 

“ If I only dared ! ’’ she whispered. “ If he were a man 
whom I could calculate upon, I might go and tell him all ! 
But who can know whether I might not inspire him with 
as much horror as admiration ? Did he not tell me he had 
almost admired me for the courage of my frankness about 
Gosselin ? Yes, and he meant what he said, for he spoke 
with emotion. He was Gosselin’s friend. Might he not 
fall under my power, as easily as Gosselin? If I only 
dared ! I should horrify him by my confession, but I 
should amaze him by the sacrifice of an infallible retribu- 
tion ! All might be saved — yes, all ! What a part to 
play ! But, if I lost, all would be lost. Dare I lose ? 
Dare I risk it ? ” 

She sat down on the edge of her bed and thought a 
long time, with her head resting on her right hand and 
the elbow of her right arm in the palm of her left. Sev- 
eral times a shudder passed over her frame. She came 
out of her reverie exhausted and disheartened. 

“ No, no! ” she murmured, the attempt would be mad- 
ness — a useless humiliation. He would scoff at me. He 
would drive me from him. George would hear. No ! 
Things had better stay as they are. He brings it on him- 


152 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


self. I know him well. His blood is up. He would he 
furious. When he spoke to Pornic out of the window, his 
voice was sharp, harsh, and inflexible. He would have 
no pity. I will have none. He is impatient to leave this 
house — to see his lawyer. The fool ! He sleeps — ^how can 
he sleep, while he is planning the public announcement of 
my shame and the ruin of my son ? The ruin of George ? 
No, no ! George was horn to be happy, to he rich, to be 
loved. We are resolved he shall he, and we well know 
how to will ; indeed, we do ! What does it signify if I 
add to the burden of my remorse ? Denis tells me it will 
come out right at last — that it will he the last great trial 
of my life, the final triumph of an indomitable will. I 
ought to trust him. But for him, Qeorge would have no 
education, no position. Without him, George would 
never have obtained from Captain Kemuz that which 
Captain Kernuz has given him, and which most assuredly 
he shall never take hack again. No, no ! ” 

But, even as she spoke to herself, with increasing agita- 
tion both of mind and body, Madame Gosselin’s energy 
was fading away, together with the wonderful clearness of 
mind which had survived the influences of her life’s rou- 
tine. A few more gleams from a hold fancy, a few more 
sparkles from the almost extinguished ashes of her heart 
(terribly aroused that day), and then she would fall back 
into that drowsy, semi-alive state in which she passed her 
life, and which was not always imposture. 

Knitting and the mechanical practices of devotion had 
become absolute necessities to Madame Gosselin. Though 
a woman of passionate emotions, she had (like other wo- 
men who have gone through the discipline of the cloister) 
chastised her passions, and benumbed about three-quarters 
of her own nature. She still sometimes passed excited 


MADAME GOSSELIN ALONE. 


153 


hours, not of revolt, but of wild expansion. At times she 
remembered the days of her youth, and her own crimes. 
She plunged into a gulf of bitter memories with passion- 
ate regret, and then, soon coming to the surface, resumed 
the even tenor of her pious, respectable, monotonous daily 
life, with a natural reaction which became more natural 
and easy as time went on. The tyranny of custom tri- 
umphs, in the end, over all manner of rebellions. When M. 
Pleumeur had insisted upon Madame Gosselin’s adopting 
her present way of life, he counted upon its final effect on 
her. The result that he anticipated was attained, though 
more slowly than he thought, she having the blood of the 
tropics in her Breton veins. Nevertheless, the end was in- 
evitable. 

So, although generally held to be a female bigot, with 
very little sense of feeling, Madame Gosselin was really a 
woman of bold spirit. Though outwardly she was an insig- 
nificant, weak, silent, acquiescent bourgeoises she had secret 
fits of passion and of rage, which placed her on a par with 
the boldest and most shameless women of history ; and this 
was why M. Pleumeur, with a sarcastic meaning known 
only to himself, suggested the name of La Belle Gleopatre, 
as that of the first vessel constructed by her son. 

Her reverie over, the widow ceased to think of anything 
but her own great weariness ; but before getting into bed 
she felt for her rosary. She was just in the state of mind 
most favorable to the benumbing of all thought and 
feeling. 

If we dwell on these apparent contradictions, it is to 
make our readers understand a character variable upon its 
surface but immovable in its depths — feminine in every 
sense of the word. It was with a certain sort of sincerity, 
if not with any real faith in religion, that Madame Gosse- 


154 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


lin had recourse to her devotions, as a kind of soul-narcotic, 
in moments when her nature was aroused. 

Masks long worn get incrusted on the faces of those 
who wear them, and draw from the true flesh and blood 
beneath a moisture which glues them fast over the features 
of the wearer, making it hard to wrench them from reality. 
We are persuaded that Tartufe, when entirely alone where 
no human eye was watching him, put as much outward 
fervency into his devotional exercises as when M. Orgon 
or even Laurent were by to see him. 

No one can deceive others well till he deceives himself. 
The genius of imposture, like every other species of genius, 
must find its first follower and dupe in the person who pos- 
sesses it. There is a natural instinct in human hearts in 
favor of reality — which enlarges and carries out the mere 
animal instinct for the same thing ; this it is which pre- 
vents men from living upon falsehood, even when they 
never cease to deceive. The true hypocrite may be genu- 
ine in his hypocrisy, and he is sure to defend himself 
against any charge of it in good faith, as he would defend 
his sense of justice, or would plead the cause of honesty. 

Madame Gosselin’s beads were indeed a rosary. They 
were three times as long as an ordinary string of beads. 
At first, the extreme length of this measure of devotion 
was hardly enough to deaden her imagination when a 
young woman. It had become a necessity, now that she 
was a worn-out devotee ; and if any new teacher, enlarg- 
ing on the invention of Saint Dominic, had suggested add- 
ing fifteen tens more to the rosary, Madame Gosselin would 
not have found herself discouraged by the number. 

She lay down in bed, resolved to pray — if that, with- 
out irreverence, may be called prayer which was a mere 
mechanical mumbling of paters and a^es, Madame Gos- 


THE BUNCH OF BOSES. 


155 


selin, in her bed, prayed half-aloud. Some sound was 
necessary to calm her nerves. It was this murmur of 
familiar words, this formula repeated by rote, that steeped 
her senses in forgetfulness. She dropped off to sleep once 
or twice, but started up again in piteous agitation. Each 
time that she awoke a bead passed through her fingers, 
and she went on with her devotions, never making a mis- 
take as to the size of the bead or the quantity of the 
orison. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE BUNCH OF ROSES. 

The next morning, very early, Pornic, according to 
the orders he had received, knocked softly at the door of 
Captain Kernuz. 

“ Come in ! ” cried the captain, with a voice like a gale 
of wind. 

Pomic obeyed, and was surprised to find his master up, 
dressed, and ready to go out. 

If the captain were in a rage, he was suffering from a 
most severe fit of it ; and it must have been of an un- 
usual character, for, though his face was generally red, it 
was now very pale, and his eyebrows were drawn together 
by a dark frown. Pornic perceived it was no time to sport 
with this gray, foamless, billowless ocean. He stood still, 
waiting for orders. 

‘‘ I don’t want you ! ” said the captain, roughly. “You 
come too late.” 

“ It is not five o’clock.” 

“How long have^you been depending upon clocks? 


156 


MADAME GOSSEL/X 


One would think you were afraid of tapping at my 
door ! ” 

“ I was afraid to wake you up too suddenly.” 

“You fool!” 

“ Besides, I did not want to wake up other people.” 

“ Other people ! What other people ? Do you sup- 
pose anybody in this house slept last night ? The young 
man was thinking of his marriage ; the mdow was think- 
ing about death ; and I was thinking of my duty this 
morning.” 

So saying, the captain picked up his pocket-book, which 
lay, stuffed with papers, on the table, and made an impa- 
tient sign that Pomic should hand him his straw hat. 

As he did so, the sailor set his foot on the remains of 
the pipe upon the floor. He gave a sudden cry of : 

“ Ah, captain ! ” 

“ Well, what of that? Sweep it away.” 

Pornic shook his head with an air of pity, which must 
have been for the fate of the pipe, but which Captain Ker- 
nuz fancied was caused by alarm for himself personally. 

“ That is the way all the best pipes in the world come 
to an end at last,” he said, in a less imperious tone. 

Pomic sighed. Captain Kernuz went toward the stairs. 
As he was leaving his room, however, he turned back. 
Seeing Pornic looking anxious, he took pity on the devo- 
tion of his follower, and, remembering his proneness to 
superstition, was tempted to make fun of him. Yet he 
was in no humor to joke for joking’s sake alone. 

“ Have you a sweetheart, Pomic ? ” he asked, roughly. 

The sailor, who had reached an age when men become 
more reserved than in their youth upon such subjects, be- 
gan to blush, growing a sort of purple-red, like an old 
grape-vine in the autumn, and cast down his eves. 


THE BUNCH OF ROSES, 


157 

Captain Kemuz did not langh. His own remark had 
roused his anger. He resumed : 

“ If you have not one now, you must have had.” 

“ Hang it ! yes, captain.” 

‘‘ And, among them all, did you ever make love to a 
married woman ? ” 

“ Some of them said they were married, captain.” 

“ If the husband of one of these jades had caught you 
making love to his wife, what would you have done about 
it?” 

Pomic doubled up his fists involuntarily. 

“That’s it! You would not have told the husband 
that you had got into his house to pick the lock of his 
closet-door and steal his money ? ” 

“ Oh, no, captain 1 no, indeed ! ” said Pornic, horrified. 

“ And suppose the man had called you a thief, would 
you have told him what he was ? ” 

“ Of course 1 ” 

“ You would not have let him have you arrested as a 
burglar ? ” 

“ Sacre bleu ! — no ! ” 

“You would not have gone quietly to the galleys?” 

“To the galleys — for such a thing? Mille millions 
de tonnerres ! ” 

“And suppose the woman had been base enough to 
accuse you of theft — to testify against you in open court — 
to swear before God and man you were a thief — what would 
you have done to her ? ” 

Pornic undoubled his fists and worked his fingers in a 
significant manner. 

“Well,” said Captain Kernuz, “by-and-by, when I 
come back — when I have done what I have to do, and 
cannot go back on it— I’ll tell you a story about a thing 


158 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


of that sort which will make you feel a perfect hoiTor of 
women ! ” 

P^rnic appeared neither alarmed nor excited by the 
promise of this story ; he had had his own experiences, 
and held his own opinion about women. Nevertheless, 
he looked somewhat anxiously at the captain, as if to ask 
what could have called forth such questions and remarks. 
Was it possible, by any chance, that any one had tried to 
slander him to his master ? 

The captain had no time for further talk, and cared 
little about leaving his riddle unexplained. He had turned 
Pornic’s thoughts away from the broken pipe, which was 
all he wanted. His face was as white as before, and as 
threatening. His mouth had an expression as if he were 
chewing something bitter. He went down-stairs, crossed 
the garden, and went out of his gate without saying an- 
other word. 

Pornic followed him gravely, not daring to ask him 
when he would be home, and not venturing to ask for 
orders. 

When the captain passed through the ii’on grille^ the 
sailor stepped forward as if to follow him further, of 
course out of curiosity ; but Pomic’s curiosity with re- 
gard to the doings of Captain Kernuz was like that of a 
watch-dog who is always on his guard against wolves. 

He stopped, however. To follow the captain would 
only displease him, and was contrary to orders. 

‘‘ It can’t matter,” he said, giving a last look at his 
master, as he turned back into the house again ; “ but if I 
thought he had an enemy in the town, I should be sure 
he was going to fight a duel. He had that very look — an 
uncommon look for him, a foul-weather look — that day 
when he got that famous sword-thrust at Valparaiso, in 


7HE BUNCH OF ROSES. 159 

the matter of that handsome Donna Dolores. That look 
is unlucky ! ” 

Pornic was looking down as he went into the house. 
If he had looked up at the windows of the second story, 
he might have seen another face even whiter than his 
master’s, with great eyes flaming like live coals, as they, 
too, watched the departing steps of the angry captain. 

It was Madame Gosselin, on the lookout for his depart- 
ure. She had counted his steps on the staircase ; she 
had counted them across the garden ; she seemed to be 
counting them still as he walked onward ; and, gazing 
through the half-opened green blinds, with floating hair, 
and trembling lips, and open nostrils, she was following, 
almost urging, the captain down to the river-bank, on the 
road along which, as she well knew, he never failed to 
pass when on his way to Lorient. 

She stood for half an hour in the same attitude, watch- 
ing and listening. At last she heard a noise, so far off 
that it sounded, by the time it reached her ear, like the 
loud crack of a whip ; then she slowly dropped her eye- 
lids and closed the blinds. 

George, too, was early that morning. He had not 
been able to sleep, but he had enjoyed his wakefulness. 
It is delightful, at his age, to be able to say, “ I am tired 
of looking up at my bright, particular star ; I am wearied 
out with my own sense of happiness.” 

He heard Captain Kemuz go out early, and had a 
notion of joining him ; but he hesitated, fearing it might 
be selflsh of him to interrupt his benefactor, when per- 
haps he was devising, in secret, new kindnesses for the 
son of his adoption. 

George tapped at his mother’s door. She heard him, 
but would not answer him. She did not want to see him. 


160 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


and be forced to tell bim of tbe death of Captain Gos- 
selin. 

Pornic, who had come in feeling uneasy and anxious, 
heard the young engineer on the staircase, and also got 
out of his way, not wishing to encounter him. 

So George, reaching the garden without seeing any 
one, stopped to gather all the roses on a rose-bush that 
Berthe had admired the evening before. Captain Ker- 
nuz thought himself very gallant for offering the young 
lady one of these roses. He was a connoisseur in roses, 
and so proud of his collection that he was very unwilling 
to give any away. George had abstained the evening 
before from gathering them, when he saw the frugal gen- 
erosity of the captain, but he now took his revenge ; and, 
with a kind of boyish selfishness, was resolved to carry 
to his love not only the finest flowers from the rose-bush, 
but to present her every one. There would be others out 
the next day — some, perhaps, even before Captain Kernuz 
missed them. 

With his bouquet of roses in hiS hand, his face rosy 
and beaming with that aii* of happy innocence which 
springs from well-earned happiness ; eager for work, and 
eager for love, since love was the true recompense of la- 
bor ; recalling, in the fresh air of early morning, the little 
song he had breathed upon the breeze of night, George 
walked, like a gay schoolboy, toward the city. 

To a man of twenty-four it is no effort to be boy-like ; 
and yet, at that age, in studious natures, gravity as a rule 
of life has already set in. George had become prema- 
turely grave, partly to please M. Pleumeur ; but his was 
one of those bright natures which are childlike all theii* 
lives long ; who treat their childlike spii’it as if it were a 
brother or a sister, gently sporting with it, and taking 


THE BUNCH OF BOSES, 


161 


refuge in it, to divert their thoughts from the sorrows 
and preoccupations of manhood or maturer years. 

In one of the plays of Lope de Vega, Dorothea says 
to a young man, “ You look as though your power to 
weep were great.” And the young man replies, “ I have 
a child’s eyes, and the soul of a son of Portugal.” 

George might have made much the same answer to 
his mother or to M. Pleumeur. He could weep as readily 
as he could laugh ; and happy is the man who has not 
ceased to weep ! He is better off than he who has always 
a laugh at hand. 

This morning it would not have needed much to bring 
tears to George’s handsome eyes. One drop more joy 
added to those that he had already in his heart would 
have been too much for him. 

He went along the same road Captain Kernuz had 
taken, by the banks of the Scorff. 

When about half-way to Lorient he heard a noise, and, 
looking straight before him instead of turning his head, 
he perceived a group of five or six persons in the middle 
of the road. 

As he drew near, a man turned round, a sailor of Ker- 
antrec who knew him, raised his arm, cried out, and came 
toward him. 

“Ah! M. Gosselin, M. Gosselin,” he exclaimed, “how 
dreadful 1 ” 

“ What is the matter ? ” asked George, in surprise. 

Instead of answering, the man drew back, making a 
sign to the others to do the same. George gave a great 
cry, and sprang forward. He saw the body of a man lying 
in the dust, and at once recognized Captain Kernuz. 

The captain lay on his back ; his eyes were glazed, but 
open ; his mouth was purple. 


162 


MADAME aOSSELIN. 


George, in an excitement which deprived him of the 
power to speak, fell on his knees, dropped the roses on 
the corpse, and lifted up the captain’s head. The blood, 
which had not been seen at first, and which was slowly 
soaking into the dust of the highway, covered the hands 
of the young man. He drew out a handkerchief and tried 
to staunch the wound ; but it was bleeding no longer. 

George looked up with mute interrogation. 

‘‘He is quite dead,” said the sailor who had first 
spoken. 

George made a sign that it could not be. 

“ He has been dead,” said the man, “ at least half an 
hour.” 

“ Dead ! ” repeated George, like an echo. 

“ I thought, at first, it might be apoplexy,” said the 
man from Kerantrec, “ or that he had fallen over a stone.” 

George could offer no suggestion. He nodded his 
head, as if he would agree to any supposition. 

“ But it is a crime — a murder, M. Gosselin ! ” 

“ A crime ! — a murder ! ” repeated the young man, 
still feeling the captain’s hands and brow, and trying to 
lay his hand upon his heart. 

“ I heard the shot,” continued the sailor, “but I thought 
it was some one firing at the gulls.” 

“ How long ago ? ” asked George, though he had no 
precise object in the question. 

“About half an hour.” 

We said, just now, that Nature’s smile, or any touch 
of friendly sympathy, could draw tears from George. But 
this horrible surprise brought no tears into his eyes. He 
was in that first stage of stupor which in some men makes 
grief dangerous when it does not find relief in sobs and 
cries. 


THE BENCH OF BOSES. 


163 


“ Help me to lift him, friends,” he said. 

“ Better wait, I say, for the gendarmes,” replied one 
of the party. 

“He cannot lie here !” cried George, eagerly. “Ah ! 
if I had hut come on faster, I might have been here in 
time to hear his last sigh, to help him in his last agony.” 

“ I don’t think you could have done anything,” said 
the sailor from Kerantrec. “ The poor, dear man could 
have had no time to suffer ; the hall killed him on the 
spot.” 

“I won’t let him stay here,” resumed George, rising, 
with an agitation that found vent at last in tears, “ and if 
you will none of you help me, I will carry him alone.” 

The tone of these words conquered their dislike to 
meddling with the body. Instead of helping George, they 
took his place. Two men lifted up Kernuz by the arms ; 
two others raised his legs. 

“ Where shall we carry him ? ” they asked the young 
engineer. 

“ Carry him down yonder, to the first house by the 
road.” 

The first house, to which he pointed, belonged to M. 
Pleumeur. 

The men who bore the body looked at each other, evi- 
dently embarrassed and puzzled. 

“ Do you mean the hermit’s ? ” said one of them, in 
much the same tone he would have used in saying, “ To 
the devil’s ? ” 

“ To the house of my master and friend,” replied 
George. Then, turning to another of the party, he said : 
“ Run for the magistrates and the gendarmes. They will 
find us all at M. Pleumeur’s. Be quick ! ” 

At the first step made by the bearers, the bunch of 


164 


MADAME GOSSELIX 


roses that George Gosselin had laid down, without think- 
ing of it, upon the corpse, fell to the ground ; and some 
red petals of the roses lay scattered in the dust, as if the 
flowers, too, were wounded, and were shedding their life- 
blood. George hesitated about picking them up. What 
had the present scene to do with flowers ? Would Berthe 
care for them now ? Could he care for them ? 

Then came another thought, which made him stoop and 
raise them quickly from the ground. These flowers had 
become precious to his heart ; he pressed them to his lips, 
and his tears fell freely. The roses were an evidence of 
Captain Kernuz’s kindness. They should be both a fune- 
ral remembrance of him, and a love-token — more sacred 
and more pious still. 

The little procession set forward. George held one of 
the captain’s ice-cold hands. 

Ten yards from where the body had been found, one of 
the little party gave a cry, and ran toward a small hillock 
of sand. He came back with a pocket-book, empty and 
tom open. In order to get it open quicker, the clasp had 
been wrenched off. 

‘‘ That is the captain’s pocket-book ! ” said George, 
recognizing it at once. 

Though George had not wept when he flrst saw his 
benefactor’s body, he began to sob at sight of his pocket- 
book. He imagined that Captain Kernuz might have been 
on his way to carry the lawyer the money required to ad- 
mit him into partnership with M. Mauroy. 

If so, he — George — had been the cause of this early walk 
— the indirect cause of the murder of the captain. From 
that time forward remorse would forever embitter his grief 
for the loss of his kind friend. 

They soon reached M. Pleumeur’s cottage. Its proprie- 


THE BUNCH OF BOSES. 


165 


tor was at work already. He was sitting before his table, 
with the light falling upon him from a side-window, which 
was not open. When he heard a noise, he rested his elbows 
on his book, and waited. 

George a moment after burst open the door, and al- 
most flung himself into his master’s arms. 

Captain Kernuz has been murdered ! Captain Kernuz 
has been murdered ! ” he cried, almost fainting with emo- 
tion, and leaning his head on the shoulder of M. Pleumeur, 
who had not time to rise, or even to push back his chair 
from the table. 

The mathematician and stoic started, and appeared 
much moved. But the look he cast at George was too full 
of tender pity to have been called forth by the fate of the 
captain. 

The bearers, after another moment of hesitation, came 
into the little parlor, carefully bringing the body through 
the narrow door. 

M. Pleumeur rose slowly, disengaging himself from 
George. 

“ Why do you bring him here ? ” he said. 

“ I had it done, cher mattre. I ordered it,” replied 
George. “We were too far from home ; the magistrates 
will be nearer to the place where the crime was commit- 
ted.” 

“ Do as you think best,” replied M. Pleumeur, coldly, 
drawing his books out of the way, and gathering up his 
papers, so as to leave the table clear. 

Upon this table the bearers at once laid out the 
body. 

The corpse was by this time stiff. The face looked 
fierce and threatening. The shot had forever fixed its last 
expression. 


166 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


M. Pleumeur examined it, and then said, exactly as the 
man before had done : 

“ He did not suffer.” 

Then, as George shuddered every time he looked at 
the dead face, which seemed to gaze at him with a look of 
reproach, M. Pleumeur passed his cold hand over each eye- 
lid, and pressed them down forcibly, for they resisted the 
first slight pressure of his hand. 

“ Was nothing found ? ” he asked. 

“Yes,” said one of the men ; “we found his pocket- 
book.” 

George showed it him. 

“ Ah ! ” said M. Pleumeur, “ this, then, explains his 
being waylaid. Where is the wound ? ” 

They dared not touch the dead man’s head again to lift 
it up, but they pointed to the spot. 

“ The shot was fired by a skillful marksman,” said the 
mathematician, “unless, indeed, he fired at very short 
range.” 

“You must have heard the shot,” said the sailor from 
Kerantrec, who had been one of the four bearers. 

“ Of course I heard it ! I often hear firing early in the 
morning.” 

“ Didn’t you see any one ? ” 

“ My door was shut, and all my windows look the other 
way.” 

As they sat waiting for the magistrates, a solemn silence 
took possession of the whole party. George, seated on a 
chair near tfie door, with his head in his hands, was weep- 
ing bitterly. 

The men of the neighborhood, who found themselves 
for the first time in M. Pleumeur’s cottage, looked round 
his little sitting-room, at first with timid curiosity, which 


THE FIRST INVESTIGATION. 


167 


soon gave way to feelings of respect. They found it, with 
its books, its scientific apparatus, and its bare simplicity, 
very like a doctor’s office, or a priest’s parlor, and grew 
reconciled to it. 

As for M. Pleumeur, after having looked at and han- 
dled the dead body of a man who did not like him, and 
whom he never could have loved, he returned to his books, 
sat down in one corner of the sitting-room, and appeared 
to have resumed the study he had been engaged in. But 
had any keen observer been present, he could not have 
failed to remark that M. Pleumeur did not once tm-n over 
the pages of the book before him. 

However, we may add, that had such an observer been 
present, M. Pleumeur would not have failed to turn over 
his leaves. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE FIRST IN VESTIGATIOU". 

The commissaire of police, the juge de paix, and two 
gendarmes, came in one after the other. It had not been 
easy, so very early in the morning, to get together all the 
representatives of order and public justice. The pro- 
cureur imperial came in later. 

Without waiting for him, the juge de paix proceeded 
to note down the actual facts. The people present told 
that, as they were going to the city, they had found Cap- 
tain Kernuz lying in the highway. The pocket-book was 
examined. The motive of the murder was undoubtedly 
robbery. 

The two magistrates knew the young engineer by sight 


168 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


and by reputation. The launch of La Belle Cleopatre had 
made too much noise in Lorient not to have caused a good 
deal of talk about George Gosselin, his employer, M. Mau- 
roy, and his friend and protector, Captain Kernuz. M. 
Pleumeur himself had not been quite forgotten in this 
sort of notoriety, which is the frequent prelude to distinc- 
tion. 

George was therefore politely requested to tell all he 
knew. But he knew nothing. He had heard Captain 
Kernuz get up and prepare to leave the house, but he did 
not know what had taken him out so early. He could only 
make a conjecture, which had overwhelmed him with re- 
morse, viz., that Captain Kernuz might have been going to 
his lawyer’s, to pay in the money agreed upon with M. 
Mauroy as the condition of his marriage. 

What proof was there that Captain Kernuz had the 
money about him ? — and who could have known before- 
hand the captain’s intention of passing the precise spot 
where the murderer lay hid ? 

George was wretched at not being able to tell any- 
thing more, while the juge de paix (though very consider- 
ate toward the evident grief of the witness) pressed him 
for further information. M. Pleumeur at last stepped for- 
ward, and, with a phlegmatic gentleness which was his 
nearest approach to kindliness, begged the magistrate to 
respect this natural grief. 

He was questioned in his turn. 

He deposed that he had heard the shot, but it had not 
caused him. any surprise. He himself very often, early 
in the morning, or in the evening, amused himself by 
firing at birds along the river. 

And as he spoke, with his grave voice which always 
seemed as if stating a problem in algebra or geometry, M. 


THE FIRST INVESTIG A TIOK 


169 


Pleumeur pointed to liis own gun, wliicli was leaning 
against the wall. 

One of the gendarmes, moved by a soldier’s instinct, 
or by professional caution, or, perhaps, under the influence 
of some vague suspicion, took up the piece and thrust his 
finger into the barrel. He drew it out unhlackened. 

“ Take care, gendarme ! ” said M. Pleumeur ; ‘‘ that 
gun is loaded.” 

The gendarme put the weapon hack with due pre- 
caution. 

The juge de paix examined the body, and was sur- 
prised at seeing no wound. M. Pleumeur, while two by- 
standers lifted up the head of the corpse, explained with 
wonderful lucidity, and in a tone of voice which cut and 
gleamed like a surgeon’s knife, the manner of the murder. 
The hall had entered the skull just above the nape of the 
neck ; and, if it had passed one hair’s-breadth to the right 
or left, it might have glanced along the skull without 
killing its victim. The demonstration was made, not 
in strictly technical terms, hut in a manner so clear and 
so convincing, that it astonished the commissaire, the 
juge de paix, and the gendarmes. 

The juge de paix bowed very politely, and then begged 
M. Pleumeur, whose scientific knowledge he had often 
heard spoken of, and now saw for himself, to be so kind 
as to go with them over the ground, in search of other 
evidence of the crime. 

M. Pleumeur hesitated, and frowned slightly, as if he 
did not wish to neglect the double hospitality he owed to 
the dead captain and to George. 

George, who was leaning hack in his chair, hiding his 
face in his hands, here made an imploring sign to his old 
tutor, adding : 

8 


170 


MADAME G08SELIN. 


“ Oh ! if you please, M. Pleumeur, go with the gentle- 
men. I will stay here.” 

As M. Pleumeur still seemed to hesitate, George con- 
tinued : 

I entreat you, leave me alone with him. It seems as 
if I must speak to him once more, and as if he certainly 
would hear me when we are alone together. Do you, 
mon cher mattre, do everything you can to throw light 
upon this murder — help them to find the murderer. I 
shall love you — I shall look up to you more than ever. 
Such a crime must not remain unpunished, and it will 
not. No, no — it is impossible ! ” 

M. Pleumeur looked steadily at George, mth a half- 
tender expression in his cold, stern eyes, which never- 
theless failed to warm or soften them. It might have 
been a spark of irony which troubled the gleam of sym- 
pathy, as, turning toward the juge de paiXy he said, “ I am 
at your command, gentlemen.” 

The magistrates and the two gendarmes seemed to fol- 
low his lead in everything. Eveiybody went out of the cot- 
tage. George only staid behind, alone with the dead body. 
He closed the door and came back to the table, where 
the corpse was laid out as if in a dissecting-room, and 
looked at it a long time, with a grief that was truly filial. 

Here, in this cold, still room, where everything seemed 
to forbid any expansion of feeling ; in an atmosphere full 
of M. Pleumeur’s skepticisms and negations, George, a 
true believer, because his heart was full of love — a true 
worshipper, because he laid aside the pride of his young 
manhood — ^knelt down to pray earnestly, in that vague, 
incoherent, unpremeditated way, known to those who come 
to God in their great need for help, without the formulas 
of devotion. 


THE FIRST INVESTIGATION, 


171 


He joined his hands in eager supplication, and ex- 
claimed, “ Oh, my God ! oh, my God ! ” without adding 
any other words to the cry — without questioning whether 
it were indeed an act of supplication. 

This scene between the living and the dead lasted 
three-quarters of an hour, during which an examination 
was going on upon the highway. 

M. Pleumeur would have seemed to an observer the 
chief magistrate, assisted by the commissaire and the 
juge de paix. 

His stern, pale face ;; his unmoved features ; his mouth, 
which never opened to say useless words ; his keen, in- 
quisitor-like eyes-^all made him look the model of a 
judge. His appearance, which would have been nearly 
that of an English clergyman had he worn a white cra- 
vat, and had he had a little more kindliness in his calm 
features, assisted the illusion. 

As soon as they reached the place where the body had 
been found, M. Pleumeur, in a few words, pausing after 
each sentence, and illustrating the probabilities of the 
crime as if he had been setting forth a problem in mathe- 
matics, brought the whole scene vividly before them. 

It was clear that the murderer must have let Captain 
Kernuz pass him ; that he had not stopped him, but had 
taken aim at him from behind. 

As he looked round him, M. Pleumeur remarked the 
corner of a wall that had been begun to be built, to in- 
close a lot of ground upon which a house was to be 
erected. 

“Most likely,” he said, “the murderer lay in wait 
there.” 

The juge de paix and the commissaire examined the 
wall. 


172 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


“ See ! ” said M. Pleumeur, “ here are the marks of 
feet.” 

And, to add force to the demonstration, the lecturer - 
held his lifted foot over one of the foot-marks, which was 
clearly to be seen in the dust of the highway. 

His foot, which had thick, clumsy shoes on, was wider 
and longer than that of the murderer. As he was about 
to set it down upon the mark, the juge de paix stopped 
him, saying : 

‘‘ Take care ! you will destroy the impression.” 

‘‘ Don’t be afraid, sir,” answered M. Pleumeur, dryly, 
and almost proudly, “ I have no wish to deprive justice 
of any means of information. I only wanted to prove 
that the man we are in search of had a foot smaller than 
mine.” 

“ What would you conclude from that ? ” 

“ Not much — except that it is evidently not a labor- 
ing man’s foot, nor a mechanic’s, nor a sailor’s. It be- 
longed to a citizen.” 

The juge de paix and the commissaire stooped down 
to examine the foot-mark. It was so distinct that it might 
have served as a mould for plaster. It took them some 
time to examine it. 

When they rose, M. Pleumeur passed on to other cir- 
cumstances. 

He pointed out upon the wall the place where the gun 
must have had its rest, and, measuring the distance with 
his eye, repeated that the murderer must have been a 
splendid shot. He had evidently chosen his place at the 
back of his victim’s skull, and had hit just the very point 
at which he aimed. 

This part of M. Pleumeur’s demonstration made a great 
and at the same time a rather disagreeable impression 


THE FIRST INVESTIGATION. 


173 


on Ms hearers. “ What a logician, what an observer, this 
professor of mathematics must be ! ” they thought ; “ but 
what a heart of marble ! ” Here was he positively ad- 
miring the skill of the murderer ! 

M. Pleumeur seemed aware of the effect produced by 
his demonstration, and, as they turned back on to the road, 
he said, not with a show of feeling — for that he could not 
feign — ^but with stern gravity : 

“ There is but one real sufferer in this business, gen- 
tlemen. Death is nothing when it comes suddenly and 
without pain. A shot, or a stroke of apoplexy — what 
matters it to the dead man ? But what will become of 
George Gosselin ? — poor young fellow ! ” 

“ True ; there has been a good deal said about what 
the captain intended to do for him.” 

‘‘Yes, M. le jug e depaix^ Captain Kernuz appreciated 
and loved my pupil. He recognized his great abilities, 
and was about to reward their results. He had just pub- 
licly announced that he was going to establish him in 
business, and settle money on him upon his marriage. 
His death will ruin George, and destroy all my hopes at 
the same time.” 

“ Yours, monsieur ? ” 

“Yes — my ideal hopes. I did not expect to be the 
partner of my pupil ; but when one has taken pains to 
transfer all one knows into the mind of a young man, and 
when one is as old as I am, he has but one ambition : To 
see the harvest ripen, and depart before the harvest shall 
be gathered in.” 

M. Pleumeur evidently made a great effort as he said 
this, and those who heard him were moved almost to 
tears. 

“ Don’t you think Captain Kernuz may have taken the 


174 


MADAME G0S8ELIN. 


necessary steps regarding young Gosselin before bis 
death ? ” said the judge. 

Does it not seem more probable,” replied M. Pleu- 
meur, “ to believe and suppose that Captain Kemuz was 
on his way, this morning, to his lawyer’s, to put his design 
into execution ? ” 

“ It does seem likely.” 

“ Is it contrary to good sense to suppose that his pro- 
ceedings were watched by some one whose interest it may 
have been to prevent this thing ? ” 

“ Admitted, M. Pleumeur.” 

Before going on to draw deductions from these prem- 
ises, so carefully prepared, and hidden under a sententious, 
hesitating tone, M. Pleumeur gave a side-glance at the 
juge de paix, much as a druggist looks at one of his glass 
chemical retorts, to measure its capacity before he tries to 
put some compound in. 

He probably was satisfied with his measurement of 
that official’s capacity, for he went on : 

“You know,” he said, with skillful deference to the 
judge, though he framed his observations as if addressing 
a man perfectly ignorant of algebra, “ that we mathema- 
ticians arrive at our conclusions by taking some unknown 
quantity to start with, represented, say, — by a;.” 

“ I know, M. Pleumeur.” 

“Well, I use this method in every calculation I make. 
Suppose there were some young man in this part of the 
country — in this neighborhood — who conceived he had a 
sort of filial right to expect to inherit property from 
Captain Kernuz : might that not explain the murder, on 
the theory of the disappointment of his worldly expecta- 
tions ? ” 

“ You mean to suggest a parricide ? ” 


THE FIRST INVESTIGATION. I75 

“ A sort of parricide — not a parricide in law, of course 
— to avenge a sort of infanticide.” 

The juge de paix thought a few moments, and glanced 
at the commissaire of police, who nodded his head in sign 
of approval. 

“ The theory is a very ingenious one,” said the jxige 
de paix. 

“You observe how well it fits into the facts,” said M. 
Pleumeur. 

“ Especially,” said the commissaire of police, in a low 
voice, and with a smile of admiration for M. Pleumeur, 
“ especially as there have been rumors as to the particular 
interest felt by Captain Kernuz for M. George Gosselin.” 

M. Pleumeur half-closed his eyes. The commissaire 
felt as if he were encouraged by corroborative testimony. 

“ He took Madame Gosselin to live with him.” 

“ She is the wife of his dearest friend,” said M. Pleu- 
meur, sternly. 

“ True,” replied the commissaire, “ but that friend has 
been away a long time, and has never come back, unless — ” 

“You can’t be supposing,” said M. Pleumeur, in an 
icy tone which seemed to be one of disapproval, though 
it might only have been one of bitter irony, “ that Captain 
Gosselin is the person who planned and executed this in 
revenge for interference with his conjugal relations, or 
that he can have unexpectedly come home ? ” 

“ He may do something like it yet,” replied the coxn- 
missaire, 

“ Gentlemen ! gentlemen ! ” said the juge de paix, 
“ beware of spreading slanders ! I hold to M. Pleumeur’s 
theory, and I shall suggest the idea to M. le procureur 
imp'erial. It is clear that Captain Kernuz was watched 
for, and that the murderer was no robber by profession. 


176 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


There is probably some domestic unhappiness at the bot- 
tom of this affair, which justice will in time find out.” 

M. Pleumeur bowed his head twice, to signify his ap- 
proval of this speech of the magistrate. 

They went on carefully examining the locality of the 
crime. On the side of the road opposite the wall, behind 
which the murderer had concealed himself, there was a 
steep bank going down to the river. There a recent trace 
of footsteps could be seen ; they ceased, however, at a 
break in the little cliff, where, on a stone, lay a little pile 
of ashes that the breeze of the morning had not yet wafted 
away, and a black spot beside them. 

It was evident that the murderer had here burned such 
papers as he wanted to get rid of. By what path had he 
regained the highway ? Had he gone down to the water’s 
edge ? Had he crossed the Scorff in a boat ? 

M. Pleumeur, still showing himself to be a man more 
practical than the men of law, continued to assist the 
magistrates by his suggestions. There were no footsteps 
on the ground around this spot, for the ground was too 
stony to retain any such prints. It was probable the 
murderer had not returned to the highway. Long wharves, 
deserted at the early hour when the shot was fired, ex- 
tended along the banks of the river. The murderer could 
easily have run along them, concealed himself under the 
wharves, and so have regained the city. 

The two gendarmes went off to hunt upon this scent. 
The juge de paix gave them their orders, and dispatched 
them to put them into execution. As for himself and the 
commissaire of police, they went back to M. Pleumeur’s 
house in his company ; he walking with them with his 
slow, firm, magisterial step, while they appeared like his 
associates in the inquiry. 


THE TRIUMPH OF M. PLEUMEUR. 


177 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE TRIUMPH OP M. PLEUMEUR. 

As the mathematical professor opened his own door, he 
saw the procureur imperial coming along the road, fol- 
lowed by the greffier^ and he heard, too, along the road in 
the direction of Kerantrec, the noise of a small party of 
men hurrying rapidly. It was Pornic, escorted by a cu- 
rious crowd who had found out what had happened — or, 
rather, they were following him ; for, at the first word, he 
had rushed off with a loud cry, and his anger had not 
grown calmer as he hurried to the spot. 

The procureur imperial was only just beginning 
to get an idea of what had taken place, when the sailor, 
elbowing every one else aside, and shutting the crowd 
that followed him out of the cottage, made his way into 
the little parlor. 

He went straight up to the body, stooped down, looked 
at it, examined it in silence, with a sort of snort of fury ; 
then he tried to lift up the dead hand. The hand was 
stiff, and would not stir. Then Pornic sank, half-suffo- 
cated by a sob of grief and rage, into the chair that George 
had just vacated. 

After a minute the old sailor grew ashamed of his 
weakness. He rubbed his fist across his eyes, hit himself 
a blow upon the chest, as if to send back his tears to the 
place they came from, looked around him fiercely, and 
said : 

“Why was he brought here? This is no place for 
him ! ” 

“ I had it done, Pornic,” said George Gosselin, gently. 


ira 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


laying his hand on the old sailor’s shoulder. “ I thought — 
it would be better at first — while the law — ” 

“ Ah, law ! law ! law ! ” cried Pomic, shaking his head ; 
“ what can the law do now ? Law cannot bring him back 
to me. You ought not to have brought him into this 
house.” 

‘‘Why not?” 

“ Because he never would have darkened these doors, 
had he been living. You know he never would.” 

M. Pleumeur had prudently stepped out of sight at 
first on seeing Pornic, but these words of Captain Ker- 
nuz’s old follower reflected on himself, and M. Pleumeur 
was not the man to let them pass. He stepped up to the 
table, and said, looking the sailor in the face, as the cold 
breath of his speech passed over the dead body : 

“ It is true that Captain Kernuz never came into my 
house, nor was I ever in his. But you forget, M. Por- 
nic, that we have sat at the same table at M. Mauroy’s, to 
celebrate the same event. We were both dear to the 
same heart.” 

“ True,” added George, “ the captain was a man of ac- 
tion ; he was prejudiced against men of study; but he ap- 
preciated my master’s devotion to science, since he wished 
to reward in my person what I have acquired from him.” 

“ I do not say it was not so,” replied Pornic, less per- 
suaded by M. Pleumeur’s argument than touched by 
George’s tones, yet still adhering to his views with a sort 
of savage instinct ; “ but I know he would never have set 
foot in this house. Gentlemen,” he added, turning to the 
magistrates, “ will you not let me take him home ? ” 

“ In a few moments,” said the procureur imphial, 
“ Do you know anything that may assist the law to throw 
light upon the crime ? ” 


THE TRIUMPH OF M. PLEUMEUR. 


179 


I ? I know nothing. He went out about two hours 
ago. He told me to wake him very early this morning. 
When I came down to his room he was up, and dressed. 
I had a presentiment — several things had happened.” 

- ‘‘ What kind of things ? ” 

Pomic hesitated, .and then suddenly exclaimed, while 
his face was wet with tears : 

“ It is all nonsense what I am going to tell you, but 
yesterday he broke a wine-glass, and this morning I found 
his favorite pipe broken on the floor. You laugh at that, 
of course, gentlemen. Sometimes I, too, can laugh at 
such omens ; but, at all events, they are warnings. At 
any rate, they prove bad luck is hanging over one. Ah ! 
if I had only caught hold of him, locked him up, or even 
followed him ! He was pale when he went out — almost 
the color he is now. Yesterday evening he had had a 
great shock, both of anger and sorrow.” 

At these words of Pornic there was a sensation among 
his hearers. M. Pleumeur drew back into shadow; George 
turned eagerly toward the speaker ; the magistrates whis- 
pered apart. 

‘‘Explain yourself,” said the procureur imperial, 
“ With whom was Captain Kemuz so angry ? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ Tell us what you suppose.” 

“ I don’t suppose anything. He was very angry. I 
heard him say to himself, clenching his flst, ‘ Those 
wretches ! Oh, those wretches ! ’ ” 

“And you do not know of whom he might be thinking ? ” 
Pornic did not answer immediately. He was examin- 
ing his own impressions. He gave a frightened glance 
around him, looking at M. Pleumeur, George, and the 
dead body ; then he said, in a hoarse voice : 


180 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


“No, I do not know. If I did know, I swear I would 
have told you already.” 

“ Have you any suspicions ? ” 

“ Suspicions, did you say ? ” 

Pomic again cast his eyes slowly round the little sit- 
ting-room, then, lowering his heavy brows so as to con- 
ceal a momentary light that beamed in them, he replied : 

“ No, I have none.” 

“ Do you not know, at least, what caused the sorrow 
you were speaking of ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, I know that ; it was the news — ” Here 
Pornic paused. George was standing opposite to him, in 
an attitude of eager inquiry, anxiously beseeching infor- 
mation. “ Forgive me, M. George,” he said, with sudden 
feeling, “ if I cause you pain.” 

“ Speak out, Pornic ; the wound is made already. 
What does another stab signify ? ” 

“ You see, the captain, seeing you so happy last night, 
told your mother not to tell you.” 

“No matter ; I am unhappy enough to-day. You can 
speak out now.” 

“Well, then, just as the great breakfast was over, 
given in honor of M. George, M. Mauroy, and the new 
vessel, there came a sailor, who brought a letter announc- 
ing the death of Captain Gosselin.” 

George uttered a cry. 

“ My father ! Is my father dead ? ” 

Tears choked his words ; he staggered back. M. 
Pleumeur came forward. On his breast the young man 
laid down his head and stifled his sobs. The mathemati- 
cal professor’s eyelids grew very red ; he pressed his pu- 
pil’s hands with trembling fingers. He had never shown 
such emotion before. 


TEE TRIUMPH OF M. PLEUMEUB. 


181 


“ George,” he said, “ take courage.” 

George shrank, as if he had been suddenly stung. 

“ My own dear boy ! ” repeated M. Pleumeur, with 
startling energy. 

“ Ah ! M. Pleumeur, everything seems to come upon 
me at once. My father ! Captain Kernuz ! My father, 
whom I was always expecting home, and whom I always 
yearned for — whom I hoped to see once more ! Dead ! 
Is he dead ? What killed him ? ” 

‘‘ Indeed, there seems a fate against honest people,” 
resumed Pornic, in a troubled voice. “ I don’t know ex- 
actly what it was ; but I do know that your father had 
some great trouble, M. George, and that that trouble killed 
him.” 

“ Poor father ! ” 

“Captain Kernuz wept a great deal. You may be 
proud of his tears. It was enough to kill him to tell him 
such a piece of news just after that great feast ; and when 
he had read Captain Gosselin’s letter, he was worse still.” 

“ My father’s letter ? ” broke in George. “ Where is 
it?” 

“ I daresay you will find it in Captain Kernuz’s cham- 
ber. Perhaps he has it about him. It upset him com- 
pletely. He sent for Madame Gosselin, and shut himself 
up with her in his own room, and read her the letter. I 
don’t know what passed between them, but I know the 
captain did not want you to hear of it that evening, and 
that your mother, after going to church to pray, shut her- 
self up in her own room for fear of seeing you.” 

“ Poor mother ! ” 

“I know that Captain Kernuz went out early this 
morning, saying he should not be home before the after- 
noon. If you want my notions about it, you may have 


182 


MADAME G0S8ELIN, 


them for what they are worth. I think he was going to 
the city to do something that his friend had enjoined upon 
him. That is all I know. You see, it is a mere nothing ; 
it will not help you to discover the murderer right off ; 
but I trust I shall not die until I trace him out, and see 
him tried.” 

“ I will help you, Pornic,” cried George, withdrawing 
his hand from that of M. Pleumeur, and stretching it out 
to Pornic over the dead body. “ I thought I had only my 
benefactor to avenge, but it seems I have also my father. 
The two sorrows have fallen upon me at once. I will 
make them the two great duties of my life. Why did 
you not tell me last night, Pornic, that my father was 
dead ? I should have insisted on seeing Captain Kernuz 
this morning, and if the wretch who fired at him had 
not hit me with the same bullet, perhaps I might have 
been the means of arresting him.” 

Pornic felt himself strengthened and encouraged by this 
warm explosion of tenderness on the part of the young 
engineer. 

“ Right ! right, M. George ! ” he said, taking his hand 
in both his own, and pressing it fervently ; “ my master 
made no mistake in loving you. You hear him — don’t 
you. Captain Kemuz ? ” he went on, kneeling down beside 
the body. “We both swear to avenge you — I, your old 
sea-dog, who have followed you all round the world ; and 
he whom you loved like a son, and whom you wanted to 
make rich, because he had made you happy.” 

Here Pornic rose, and, addressing the magistrates, said: 

“ How, gentlemen, may I take him home ? ” 

The procureur imperial made a gesture of assent. Por- 
nic opened the door and called in some of the men outside. 

In a few moments, a stretcher was fashioned out of 


THE TRIUMPH OF M. PLEUMEUH 


183 


some boards that they took out of a shed behind M. Pleu- 
meur’s cottage, and the body was lifted from the table, on 
which it left a stain of blood. 

Pornic and George superintended the sad removal. 

Meantime the magistrates were talking in low tones in 
one corner of the room. The juge de paix no doubt was 
confiding to procureur impe>rial the conjectures of M. 
Pleumeur. The latter nodded several times in sign of ac- 
quiescence, and looked at the professor of mathematics 
with an approving glance, as if to thank him for the 
assistance he had given to further the ends of justice. 

Perhaps, too, the commissaire of police, who took his 
part respectfully in the conversation, may have repeated 
the reflections he had previously made on the hospitality 
of Captain Kernuz, and the regard he had shown for the 
young engineer. 

The misery of Captain Gosselin ; the letter of reproach 
that he might be supposed to have written to his old ship- 
mate, if he believed him guilty of such treachery ; the 
grief, the remorse of Captain Kernuz, his agitation, his 
anger against some unknown informers, whom he called 
those wretches,” and who doubtless had denounced him 
to the absent husband — all tallied with this theory, though 
they did not explain the murder. According to this sup- 
position, it was evident that the crime must have been com- 
mitted by some one who had reason to dislike the Gosse- 
lins — mother and son — and, remotely, that ’estimable and 
modest savant, who had been expecting to enjoy his share 
in the triumph of his pupil. 

“We shall probably find Captain Gosselin’s letter in 
Captain Kernuz’s chamber,” said the procureur impk,riaL 
It may give us the clew that we need.” 

The little party bearing the dead man were about to 


184 


MADAME aOSSEZm 


set out ; the bearers had lifted their burden. Pornic had 
taken off his vest and made a pillow of it for the mangled 
head of his master. He had no fear of its being stained 
by his dead master’s blood. He wished to keep it ever 
afterward as a sacred relic. Untying his cravat, he spread 
it gently, like a veil, over the dead man’s face, to hide it 
from the curious eyes of those who were sure to press 
around the stretcher as soon as it had passed outside the 
door. 

“ Back ! ” cried the sailor, in a voice of thunder. “ The 
murderer himself may be among you. Don’t come near 
him 1 I forbid any one to approach him.” 

Pornic’s objurgation was absurd ; but Pomic’s angry 
grief was very genuine. 

George placed himself behind the faithful sailor, over- 
come by two such shocks, and restless under his double 
misfortune ; fearful of being ungrateful to his benefactor, 
or of wanting natural feeling if he grieved more over one 
than the other. 

He was leaving the little sitting-room last, when he 
was detained by M. Pleumeur. 

The eyes of master and pupil met, but neither under- 
stood the feeling of the other. 

George, with swimming eyes, could not imagine why 
M, Pleumeur was evidently unwilling to let him follow in 
the wake of the sad procession. M. Pleumeur, with fixed, 
piercing eyes, seemed astonished that George should want 
to leave him. 

The young engineer was so accustomed to defer to the 
slightest command of his tutor, that he stammered out : 

“ Excuse me, M. Pleumeur.” 

‘‘You are excused, my son.” 

The cold, stern lips of M. Pleumeur seemed to give 


THE TRIUMPH OF M. PLEUMEUR. 


185 


especial expression — not tender, but severe — to these last 
words, “ My son.” He added : 

“ I am afraid all this will be too much for you. Let 
these men go on ; you can rejoin them presently.” 

“No, no ! ” cried George, trembling for fear of being 
detained against his will ; “ my place is beside Pornic. I 
want to know all that the law finds out ; and I am impa- 
tient to see my mother.” 

M. Pleumeur dropped the hand he held. 

“ Go, then,” he said. 

George said “Good-by,” with a motion of his head. 
He was crossing the threshold, when M. Pleumeur said : 

“You have forgotten something.” 

“Havel?” 

Gravely and solemnly M. Pleumeur took from a pile 
of books the bunch of roses which George had laid down 
there, and held them out to him. 

The young man drew back, and hung his head. He 
felt ashamed, in his sincere distress, to remember the dream 
of self and happiness that these flowers brought back to 
him. 

“ Why did you gather them ? ” asked M. Pleumeur. 

“ Oh, dear master, spare me ! I am unhappy enough 
already. It is over — all over now ! I shall see her no 
more ! ” 

M. Pleumeur gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, and 
a faint gleam for a moment passed over his face. 

“This prediction of yours,” he said, “will come to 
nothing, like the oath you swore a few moments ago. You 
will resume your position in the household of M. Mau- 
roy, and you will not avenge the death of Captain Ker- 
nuz.” 

“ Indeed, I will ! ”' 


186 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


“Are you so confident that you will ever find the 
guilty person ? ” 

“ I will never cease to be on the lookout for him.” 

M. Pleumeur gazed at him a moment, with an air of 
compassion ; then he said : 

“ If vou do not wish to take these fiowers to her, I 
will.” 

“ You, M. Pleumeur ? ” 

“Yes, myself. The rumor of this matter will soon be 
all over the city. It is only proper that M. Mauroy should 
be one of the first to hear of it. He will feel anxious, 
too, at your absence. I will tell Mademoiselle Berthe 
that you gathered these roses for her. She will take a 
gentle pleasure in her own grief when she thinks of 
yours.” 

“Ah ! tell her, too, M. Pleumeur, that even if this 
double loss makes a gulf between us, I shall yet never 
cease to love her.” 

“I will certainly deliver your flowers. I cannot yet 
tell whether I will repeat your message. I am but a poor 
medium for a love-speech ; and, besides, I do not believe 
in the gulf that alarms you.” 

“ Tell her, at least, that I am wretched, and that she 
must forgive me if my first thoughts just now are of my 
filial duty. Farewell ! farewell ! ” 

“ I wdll tell her that, my son,” replied M. Pleumeur, 
again dwelling on the syllables, “ My son.” 

George would remain no longer. He sprang through 
the door- way and rejoined the procession, this time taking 
his place by Pornic, at the other corner of the stretcher. 

M. Pleumeur, left alone in his ovm house, stood five 
minutes perfectly still. He had followed George to the 
door. There he remained motionless, listening vaguely to 


THE TRIUMPH OF M. PLEUMEUB. 


187 


the noise of footsteps growing fainter in the distance ; 
looking out vaguely at the golden light, which fell in 
irregular patches on the highway, and at the sharp shad- 
ows of the roof, walls, and chimney of his house. 

hat was he thinking of ? Of the dead man who was 
being carried away ? Of that other dead man at the bot- 
tom of the sea ? Of his pupil ? Of the errand he was 
about to do for him? No. This man, accustomed to 
profound and steady thought, with a terrible tenacity of 
will, seemed now to be resting from both thinking and 
willing. He stood erect and firm, endeavoring to deaden 
his own mind by a concentration of his powers of hearing 
and seeing. 

He even forgot, as his dark thoughts blended with the 
sunlight of the summer morning, the promise he had just 
given to young Gosselin concerning the bunch of roses 
that he still held in his hand. 

But the flowers recalled themselves to his remem- 
brance. Their fragrance mounted, like a timid, tender 
prayer, to the senses of the man who exhibited no feel- 
ing. He looked down, saw with surprise the roses in his 
hand, smiled at them with a smile not mixed, this time, 
with cold contempt or irony, and then lifted them slowly 
to his face, and leisurely gave himself the happiness of en- 
joying their sweet breath, inhaling, with their fragrance, 
pleasant thoughts of the love and future happiness for 
George. 

“ True ! ” said he, at last, almost aloud, as if he wished 
to chafe and to astonish the gloomy echoes of his little 
dwelling. ‘‘I have a message to deliver — a mission of 
love ! ” 

He walked back into his room, and stopped before the 
bare table where the body of Captain Kernuz had been 


188 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


deposited. He looked at it with aversion and defiance. 
Then, carefully placing the roses on a little sideboard 
under the open window, he proceeded to put everything 
in order for going out. 

He gathered together the books and papers that had 
been displaced, and put them back upon the table. As he 
did so, he perceived the still fresh blood-stain that the 
gaping wound in Captain Kernuz’s skull had left behind. 
He stopped, laid the books and papers on one edge of the 
table, and looked about for something with which to 
scratch out this blot on the usual neatness of his furniture. 

He took a table-knife from the sideboard drawer, but, 
just as he was applying the blade to the spot, he stopped 
suddenly, as if a spring had given way within him ; then 
he several times almost brought the knife up to the spot 
again, but did not use it, and at last put it back into the 
sideboard. He then pulled a penknife out of his vest- 
pocket, and opened it. A second time he hesitated. Per- 
haps he was as reluctant to put to such a use the knife 
used to mend his pens, as the one he used to cut his bread 
and meat with. He shut up this knife, too, at last, and, 
after having again looked — this time very attentively — at 
the spot, he said : 

“ What matter ! It is only a stain the more upon my 
table. It is no great disfigurement to it. Besides, every- 
body knows how the spot came here. It is the payment 
of my hospitality.” 

Here M. Pleumeur drew back, as if the spot grew 
bigger and bigger as he gazed, and needed a more distant 
focus. Then he said : 

“ Notwithstanding Captain Kernuz’s pride, he has been 
a guest in my house. Notwithstanding all his threats, 
George will be happy. The spot is nearly dry now.” 


THE TlilOMPH OF M. PLEUMEUK 


189 


He took a piece of paper, laid it resolutely over tke 
bloody stain, placed a pile of books upon the paper, 
spread out all the things he usually made use of when he 
worked, and, having finished this arrangement, gave a 
sigh of relief ; not because he was glad he had disposed of 
a painful remembrance, but because he had proved to him- 
self that he had no fear of undertaking such a task, any 
more than he was afraid of George’s roses. His mind 
was too firm to be affected by such sentimental trifles. 

In M. Pleumeur’s parlor, and, indeed, in his whole 
house, he had no looking-glass, except a very little one 
by which he shaved himself. He now went and looked at 
himself in this glass, with a complacency which might 
have made some people smile and others tremble ; for, 
most assuredly, M. Pleumeur was not idly admiring him- 
self, as he examined his own face with a frown, line after 
line. Probably the result was satisfactory. He seemed 
to thank the glass with rather a pleased expression, retied 
the bow of his cravat, and sat down to change his shoes. 

He took from behind some big books on the lower shelf 
of a rustic etaghre, which he used for his library, a pair of 
shoes much less large and clumsy than those he had upon 
his feet ; but he resisted the temptation to put them on. 

“ What matter ! ” he said again, putting them back in- 
to their hiding-place. 

Then he rose up, took a few steps, and settled his feet 
firmly into his big shoes. 

“ This kind of shoe suits me best,” he said. “ I will 
never wear anything else from this day forward. As for 
those shoes, which make my feet look too small for an 
old man, they are so worn, that one of these days I will 
throw them into the Scorff. If they are ever fished out 
again, no one will think of trying them on me.” 


190 


MADAME GOSSELim 


He was ready to go out now. He put on a broad- 
brimmed bat, which threw all the upper part of his face 
into shadow. 

“ I Avonder what the magistrates are about now ? ” he 
said, casting a last look of confidence around him. “ I sup- 
pose they are looking after Captain Gosselin’s letter. They 
won’t find a trace of that, any more than they will find the 
feet that made those foot-marks. Oh, how easy it is to de- 
ceive human justice ! How ready the law is to believe in 
lies ! how ingenious it is in following up false suggestions, 
and in inventing its own falsehoods ! Could any fears of 
the power of the law restrain me, especially when I have 
such cause to revenge on justice great wrongs of my own ? ” 

He shrugged his shoulders several times. 

“ What would be the good of living for the sake of 
such easy victories,” he said, “ were it not that one still 
clings to a strange wish which can never be got rid of — 
the wish to love one human being out of all the crowd I 
cannot but despise, and to endure for his sake this life of 
a galley-slave, which is nearly as bad as the reality. Poor 
George ! His tears, bitter as they now are, will soon be 
dried. He will be all he was made for. As for the rest, 
he will forget it. No one will ever know anything of this 
day’s thunderbolt. Never will anybody know of it in this 
world. No one ! no one ! ” 

M. Pleumeur picked up the bunch of roses from the 
sideboard. The sun shone in through the window be- 
neath which they lay, and M. Pleumeur’s little room was 
flooded with its radiance. He stepped back, and, with his 
eyes shaded by the broad brim of his hat, seemed to look 
upon this flood of light as the sudden presence of another 
judge whom he must meet and brave. He repeated, with 
pale lips : 


THE TRIUMPH OF MADAME G 088 E LIN. 


191 


‘‘ No one ! no one ! ” 

And he added : 

“ Beyond and above the justice of men, which is so 
easily deceived and so often mistaken, there is nothing 
— nothing beyond ! ” 

He drew a long breath, which made the motes twinkle 
in the brilliant sunshine ; then, inhaling the fragrance of 
the roses that he held, and which seemed to protest against 
his blasphemous declaration, he left his house, to carry to 
Berthe Mauroy the sad news and the bright flowers that 
George Gosselin had confided to his care. 


CHAPTER XVL 

THE TRIUMPH OF MADAME GOSSELm. 

The little procession had considerably increased by 
the time it reached the captain’s villa. All the population 
of Kerantrec, where the event was already known, by that 
mysterious reverberation of great news which seems to 
start all echoes at one moment, had come forth to meet 
the bearers ; and Pornic had to lay aside his grief, and 
recover not only his self-command, but actual rough bru- 
tality, to keep out of the garden this demonstration of 
sympathy, or, rather, this vulgar display of curiosity. 

As soon as the bearers, the magistrates, and George 
Gosselin, had passed through the iron gate, Pornic closed 
and double-locked it after them, and the crowd had to 
retire, grumbling, as it did so, at not having had more of 
the great sight it had looked forward to, but obedient, 
nevertheless, to any order to respect the dead ; Death be- 


192 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


ing the sole divinity who never loses his hold on the re- 
spect — or, rather, the fear — of the populace. 

Madame Gosselin, very pale, and in deep mourning, 
stood at the head of the front steps, holding her rosary 
in her hand. The mourning she wore was for her hus- 
band, and it had been easy enough to improvise it out of 
her gloomy wardrobe. 

We have no wish to overdraw this tragic bourgeoise ; 
but the black dress, which brought out the extreme fair- 
ness of her face, and the pallor out of which shone the 
extreme brightness of her eyes, gave her the air of an ap- 
peased Clytemnestra receiving the corpse of her victim. 

When the bearei’s appeared before her, she drew back 
for fear of being touched by the dead body, and, stoop- 
ing her head over her beads, for a moment bent her knee. 

George, who had quitted the party, opened his arms 
to fold her to his breast — for she made no movement to 
embrace him. He looked at her for sympathy ; but she 
was too modest to make any public spectacle of her sor- 
row. She drew apart from him. 

“ Ah, mother, we are most unfortunate ! ” cried George, 
who, not being allowed to clasp her in his arms, could 
only place both his own hands on hers. 

“ It is a great trial,” she murmured. 

“You have been grieving for my father for some 
hours, and I did not know it. Why did you not let me 
take my part in our common sorrow ? ” 

“ You were so happy.” 

“ I shall never be happy again.” 

Madame Gosselin made no answer, but raised her eyes 
to heaven. 

The captain’s body was carried up into his chamber. 
Pomic superintended the arrangements. The doctor of 


THE TRIUMPH OF MADAME GOSSELIK 


193 


the place had joined the procession, and was already en- 
gaged in drawing up the necessary medical deposition. 

While this was going on, the procureur impk>rial, the 
juge de paix, and the commissaire of police, went into 
the sitting-room, and, before proceeding to make the neces- 
sary researches in the captain’s chamber, asked to exam- 
ine Madame Gosselin. 

George brought his mother in, leaning on his arm. 

She quite touched them by her quiet gentleness and 
pious resignation. Her first words were a mere whisper ; 
then by degrees she became bolder, and replied clearly 
and precisely to all questions. 

She deposed that Captain Kernuz had sent for her into 
his chamber, to tell her of the death of Captain Gosselin, 
and to read her a long letter from her husband. 

“And this letter,” said the procureur imperial^ “do 
you think we shall find it among Captain Kernuz’s 
papers ? ” 

“ I am sure of it ! ” cried George, who had an ardent 
curiosity to read his father’s last words. 

“ I do not think so,” said Madame Gosselin. 

“ Yet Pornic, whom we examined, and M. Pleumeur, 
whose opinion we have taken, thought — ” 

“ Pornic does not- know what passed between me and 
Captain Kernuz ; and as to M. Pleumeur, he can only 
make conjectures.” 

“ Of course not. But what makes you think that this 
letter is not up-stairs ? ” 

“ Because I do not think it is now in existence.” 

“ How so ? You think it has been destroyed ? ” 

“I feel sure,” said Madame Gosselin, firmly, “that it 
cost Captain Kernuz his life.” 

“ What was in it, madame ? ” 

9 


194 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


“Money certificates, wliicli it would be a temptation 
to steal, and information which it would be a temptation 
to destroy.” 

“Indeed!” 

The procureur imperial appeared struck with this new 
suggestion, which was very unlike that of M. Pleumeur. 

“ So, then,” he said, thoughtfully, “ this letter from 
Captain Gosselin contained money ? ” 

“Yes, monsieur — all the money my son was to inherit 
from his father.” 

“ Why was Captain Kernuz in such haste to carry these 
certificates to his notary ? — for you admit that, in spite of 
the very early hour, he was going to his lawyer’s.” 

“ I cannot doubt it. Captain Kernuz told me so ex- 
plicitly. He always liked to have things promptly at- 
tended to. The certificates sent on, and some money now 
deposited at Kantes in the hands of M. Guillaume Chazet, 
the ship-owner, were destined to form part of -my son’s 
marriage portion. He is engaged to Mademoiselle Mau- 
roy.” 

“ What do you mean when you speak of information 
that it might be desii’able to get out of the way ? ” 

“ My husband had reason to complain of certain per- 
sons. The ship he commanded was twice wrecked, under 
cu’cumstances which might have reflected upon Captain 
Gosselin, if he had not had evidence he could bring for- 
ward against his enemies.” 

“ What enemies ? ” 

“His crew.” 

“ Then you suppose that the words that escaped Cap- 
tain Kernuz in a fit of grief and anger, and that were 
overheard by Pornic, ‘ The wretches ! Oh, those wretches ! ’ 
were intended to apply to the crew of his own vessel ? ” 


THE TRIUMPH OF MADAME G088ELIN. 


195 


“ I did not know that he had said those words.” 

“ Pornic overheard them.” 

“ Of course, then, Pornic is right, and they must he 
considered authentic.” 

‘‘ Then you conclude that the sailor who brought the 
letter knew what it contained ? ” 

“ I do not know ; for he would hardly have delivered 
it if he meant to steal it. But others of my husband’s 
crew knew of it, no doubt. The sailor who was faith- 
ful to Captain Gosselin may have been followed ; they 
may not have been able to stop him before he got 
here ; but it is quite possible some persons may have es- 
sayed to get from Captain Kernuz the papers that the 
faithful messenger had refused to make over to them. 
At least, gentlemen, I only say what I imagine may have 
been the case. I do not know, of course, whether my 
ideas have any value. You must take them as the notions 
of a woman who knows nothing about such examinations, 
and is overwhelmed by the double misfortune that has 
come upon her since last evening.” 

After this the widow was permitted to return to her 
own chamber. 

George did not accompany her ; he remained at the 
disposal of the magistrates, to inform them as to the vari- 
ous parts of the house. 

They searched in vain among the papers of Captain 
Kernuz for the letter of Captain Gosselin. All they found 
was the rough copy of a will, not signed, and not dated, 
but evidently recent, in which Captain Kernuz had sketched 
out the reasons of his regard for George, and mentioned 
the interest he took in Madame Gosselin, as well as his 
attachment to old Pornic. 

It was evident that the captain had intended to adopt 


196 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


George and his mother as his own family. Doubtless he 
had been more than ever anxious to act promptly after 
hearing of the death of his old comrade. It might have 
been in dread of the consummation of this act of adop- 
tion that, according to M. Pleumeur’s theory, some disap- 
pointed, unknown relative, some illegitimate son, might 
have waited for him on the road, and shot him down. 

The procureur imperial undertook to make a thorough 
examination of any heirs who might come forward. 

It seemed equally certain that Captain Kernuz had left 
home with Gosselin’s last letter about him ; and, accord- 
ing to Madame Gosselin’s theory, it was to prevent his 
putting this letter into his lawyer’s hands that somebody 
had murdered him. 

Which theory should they accept ? The commissaire 
of police inclined to the first ; the promreur imp'erial 
thought the other much more probable. As to the juge 
de paix, he applied to the solution of the problem that 
spirit of compromise which- was the basis of his adminis- 
tration of jurisprudence, and proposed to reconcile both 
theories. The last letter of Captain Gosselin might have 
been destroyed, in order to lead to the suspicion which 
even that simple lady, Madame Gosselin, had at once 
conceived. 

After a search that had no result, they put seals on 
all the doors and drawers in Captain Kernuz’s chamber, 
as well as on the great sideboard full of silver. Pornic 
was made guardian. 

As for George, he said to his mother, as soon as he 
went up to her : 

“ This is no place for us now. This is no longer the 
house of Captain Kernuz ; it belongs to his heir.” 

“ Who is the heir ? ” asked the widow, mildly. 


THE TRIJJMm OF MADAME G0S8ELIN. 


197 


“ I do not know.” 

“ Let us wait, then, till he comes forward, my son.” 

“Why should we wait? — to let him turn us out-of- 
doors ? ” 

Pornic, when George spoke to him in the same strain, 
was indignant at the idea of their departure. 

“ Turn you out ! You f They might as well turn me 
out. We swore the same oath over his dead body, M. 
George ; we will stay and fulfill it together. The law has 
directed me to stand guard over the silver ; but I do not 
need any orders to stand by my real post. We ought 
neither of us to leave this house till we are forced to quit 
it. Don’t leave me alone — don’t desert me ! ” 

When the doctor and the magistrates had departed, 
Pornic gave orders to the other servants to watch the sil- 
ver. Then he laid the captain out in his best bed, in 
his best clothes. He put on his own sailor’s costume, 
which he had given up since he came ashore, lighted all 
the wax candles in the candlesticks, in order to transform 
the room into a chapelle ardente^ and said to George : 

“ Have you not a likeness of your father ? ” 

“ I have nothing but a little miniature, painted when 
he was very young.” 

“ That will do. Fetch it ; we will place it on the cap- 
tain’s pillow. It will look as if the two friends were to- 
gether.” 

“ They are together, Pornic. I feel they are, in my 
heart. The picture would disturb the impression.” 

Pornic did not like to insist on having the miniature. 
He took his place at the side of the bed, and would not 
leave it. 

After this, the house of Captain Kernuz, which had 
been so gay and noisy twenty-four hours before, became 


198 


MADAME G08SELIN. 


the scene of that silence and sadness which are only im- 
parted by man to things inanimate. 

Madame Gosselin remained in her own chamber ; she 
did not even quit it to accompany her son to church, 
whither he went to settle the hour of the funeral, and 
make other arrangements. 

As he came back from this melancholy mission, George 
walked with his eyes downcast, and his arms hanging 
at his sides, as if he felt the weight of broken wings. At 
the garden-gate he perceived M. Mauroy and Berthe wait- 
ing his arrival. 

He had so strong and sudden a palpitation of the heart 
at sight of them, that it almost took his strength away, 
and he stopped short, putting his hand to his side. 

Berthe was sad, M. Mauroy grave. But there was an 
unquenchable gleam of hope in the young girl’s eyes, and 
from her father’s air might have been divined the inten- 
tion of offering no grudging consolation. 

Berthe broke the silence first. She was surprised and 
frightened by George’s emotion, and she said, holding out 
her hand to him : 

“ Did you not expect to see us ? ” 

To see you. Mademoiselle Berthe ? No.” 

“ I begged to be allowed to come with my father to- 
day, because I came with him yesterday. We want you 
to feel that your sorrow is shared by us — that it need not 
draw us apart from each other.” 

Berthe spoke with that mild authority she had ac- 
quired from her habit of giving orders in her father’s 
household, and which added a fresh womanly charm to 
the charm of girlhood. 

She knew, too, that any ordinary expressions of condo- 
lence would bring far less consolation to George Gosselin’s 


THE TRIUMPH OF MADAME G088ELIN. 


199 


heart than this unity between them, alluded to as imposing 
a duty upon herself. True love was not defrauded by this 
sense of duty. There would be plenty of opportunities to 
share each other’s griefs ; and the sad smile with which 
the young girl spoke, seemed one of those pale gleams 
which shine forth from dark clouds just as they are about 
to dissolve in showers. • 

George, at the first moment, knew not how to answer 
her. His generous feelings revolted ‘from any expressions 
of love, which could not be otherwise than a rapture of 
joy in the midst of such pain and horror, and yet he fully 
understood the extent of this new promise. 

‘‘ Thank you. Mademoiselle Berthe,” he murmured. 

Berthe was not deceived by the undemonstrativeness 
of this reply. It was for his manly frankness, joined to 
his quick intelligence, that she loved George Gosselin. 

M. Mauroy, who knew him less, and who had not the 
keen perceptions of his daughter, and who, moreover, had 
expected more gratitude on this occasion, was a little hurt 
by what he thought a want of comprehension on the part 
of George. He proceeded to make things clearer. 

‘‘Yes, my young friend,” he said, with a dignity that 
was akin to that of his daughter, “ misfortunes ought not 
to separate good people. That kind Captain Kernuz prom- 
ised me a partner and a marriage settlement. I shall re- 
tain the partner ; and as to the niamage portion, I have 
made my calculations, and I can do without it.” 

“ What do you mean, M. Mauroy ? ” 

“ That what is written in the heart cannot be as easily 
destroyed as a law-paper drawn up by a notary. You 
have lost your father, George ; will you still take me for 
a father-in-law ? You have lost a protector and friend ; 
will you replace him by a wife ? ” 


200 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


“ Alas ! M. Mauroy, just think : the same reasons that 
you had for declining my suit formerly, are now in force 
again.” , 

“ My reasons were bad reasons. I had already found 
that out,” continued the ingenuous ship-builder, glancing 
at his daughter, that he might get a gleam of approval 
from her eyes. ‘‘Have you not still your talents, your 
youth, and the honor of being my Berthe’s choice ? ” 

George, who had forced back his tears, felt them again 
rising to his eyes, and had not the weakness any longer to 
endeavor to repress them. He let them come, holding 
out both his hands to Berthe, who simply, gently, just as 
she had done before in a more joyful moment, gave him 
both hers. They remained thus about two minutes ; he 
looking at her through his tear^, she weeping, though 
she smiled a kindly smile not out of keeping with their 
mutual sorrow. 

They entered the garden. As they passed the rose- 
bushes, Berthe paused : 

“ You must gather, to-morrow, all that are in bloom,” 
she said to George. “ They belong to Captain Kernuz. 
They must go with him to the graveyard.” 

They passed into the dead man’s room to pray for his 
repose, and pressed poor Pomic’s hand. Then she and 
her father went up to Madame Gosselin’s apartment. 

The great heat of the day, and the bright sunshine, 
justified the closing of the blinds, and made the complete 
darkness in which the widow sat appear natural and 
proper. George, who opened the door, well knowing 
that their visit would interrupt his mother’s beads, or 
some other form of devotion, said, as he did so : 

“ Mother, here are M. Mauroy and Mademoiselle Ber- 
the, come to take part in our sorrow.” 


THE 2B1UMPH OF MADAME G08SELIN. 


201 


Madame Gosselin rose up out of her easy -chair, 
placed at the opposite side of the room. Her face was the 
only white spot in this darkened chamber. She came for- 
ward toward the glimmer of light that shone through the 
opening of the door, and made a silent courtesy, more like 
a question than an acknowledgment of sympathy. 

Before M. Mauroy could speak, George said, in a clear 
tone, but with some indistinctness in the drift of his words : 

“Mother, do you know what M. Mauroy has just said 
to me ? ” 

“I can guess,” replied the mdow, gently, but with a 
touch of irony. 

“ I do not think you do, madame,” replied Berthe, with 
equal courtesy, but with even more pride. 

The firm tone she assumed showed that Berthe had 
already taken her position as a woman, and one engaged 
to be married. Madame Gosselin was genuinely surprised. 
Berthe said not another word, but turned toward her fa- 
ther, as if commissioning him to speak in their joint names. 

M. Mauroy repeated to the mother what he had already 
said to the son : that his previous intentions had under- 
gone no change ; that the death of Captain Kernuz might 
alter the actual conditions of the partnership and the na- 
ture of the marriage settlements, but would not annul the 
other arrangement made between them. 

This declaration was made to Madame Gosselin with 
a good deal more formality than when made to George. 
While the son was expecting, -with a generous beating of 
his heart, that his mother would return warm thanks to 
M. Mauroy and embrace Berthe, Madame Gosselin seemed 
undecided how to act. 

“ This is most disinterested ! ” she said, at length, with 
mild politeness, dashed as before with irony. 


202 


MADAME G08SELIK 


The reply was strange, and almost rude. George 
blushed ; Berthe grew pale. As for M. Mauroy, who 
had no idea of being cheated out of the ideal recompense 
of his generosity, he replied, rather smartly : 

“You mistake me, madame. It is simply selfishness. 
I am consulting the happiness of my only child, and busi- 
ness success is thrown into the bargain.” 

“ Oh, certainly ! ” replied Madame Gosselin, who felt 
she had been very awkward in her reception of the infor- 
mation, and who wished for her own purposes to appear 
so still; “but there is nothing now left of all Captain Ker- 
nuz’s fine promises, and George has lost even the little he 
would have inherited from his father.” 

This persistence in dwelling upon a very delicate theme 
— ^regarding which M. Mauroy was disposed to consider 
himself acting with considerable heroism — would have 
greatly displeased that gentleman, if he had not set it 
down to the exaggeration of maternal grief, or the want 
of perception of this mildly-obstinate woman. 

Berthe, upon her part, was conscious of a feminine 
challenge from her future mother-in-law — a commence- 
ment of rivalry between them — and she now intervened 
with her previous charming, gentle resolution. 

“ What really remains of the beautiful, golden promises 
of Captain Kernuz,” she said, “is the flattering testimony 
they bore to the talents and goodness of him who is to be 
my husband. It was his solemn and expressed wish that 
I should be your daughter. That wish is enough for 
us. — Is it not, George ? — Mother, will you not give your 
blessing to your second child ? ” 

As Berthe spoke thus, she drew near Madame Gosselin, 
that she might receive a mother’s kiss upon her forehead. 

The devotees lips formed the kiss willingly enough, but 


THE TRIUMPH OF MADAME GOSSELIN, 


203 


their contact made the young girl shudder : the kiss was 
so cold and formal. 

The widow, on her part, had a feeling as if her lips were 
burned as they touched the lovely brow, where health and 
intelligence were freely circulating. 

They drew back from each other after this embrace, 
and each cast down her eyes. The glove was thrown ; the 
challenge was accepted on both sides. Had any other 
woman been present, she would have seen it all. M. Mau- 
roy and George saw nothing but the visible and outward 
signs of peace and adoption. 

From motives of delicacy, no mention was made in this 
house of mourning of their future plans. Berthe took no 
further part in the conversation ; and when all had been 
said that could be said about the death of Captain Gosse- 
lin and the murder of Captain Kernuz, with all the appro- 
priate expressions of sympathy and resignation, M. Mau- 
roy, who felt oppressed by his daughter’s silence, as well 
as by the exaggerated obscurity of the chamber in which 
they sat without seeing each other, took leave of the 
widow, and went away. 

George and Berthe again pressed each other’s hands, 
but spoke no needless words. Their looks bade defiance 
to all the mourning in the world, and their souls floated 
oif into the empyrean. 

As George was escorting M. Mauroy and his daughter 
to the garden-gate, Madame Gosselin turned back slowly 
into the inner darkness of her chamber, and said, as she 
crossed it to her chair : 

If she were not to be my son’s wife, I think I should 
hate her ! ” 

As Berthe walked homeward, she leaned, pensive, on 
her father’s arm. M. Mauroy’s melancholy was nearly at 


204 


MADAME G088ELIN, 


an end. He only felt a little inclination to remember the 
subject of death, but Berthe was again thinking about life. 

“I did just as you wished me,” began M. Mauroy, 
somewhat surprised by her reserve ; “ are you not sat- 
isfied?” 

‘‘Indeed, father, I thank you ! You did just right ; 
you acted like the kindest of men.” 

“ And yet, one would think you were sorry we came.” 

“ No — no, indeed, father ! ” 

“ Then why are you sadder now than you were this 
morning ? ” 

Berthe sighed, and did not answer. 

M. Mauroy was, under ordinary circumstances, too obe- 
dient a father not to take his revenge when it was offered 
him. 

“ Something has gone wrong with you,” he said, pat- 
ting his daughter’s hand. “ I should like to know it.” 

“Nothing is the matter, and you know I never deceive 
you,” replied Berthe, lifting up her head and shaking it, 
as if to get rid of some passing cloud ; “ but this visit has 
made on me an impression I cannot define.” 

“ It was seeing the body of poor Captain Kernuz.” 

“ No ; I prayed for him with my whole heart, and I am 
never afraid of the dead.” 

“ Did you see anything wrong in George ? ” 

“ Oh, dear father, I know him too well ! From the 
very first day, I saw into the clear depths of his soul. I 
can never be mistaken in him.” 

“ Then it is Madame Gosselin ? ” 

“ That may be.” 

“ She is a very good woman — pious, but without dis- 
cretion, and awkward from pure want of knowledge of 
the world.” 


THE TRIUMPH OF MADAME GOESELIK 


205 


Berthe made no protest against this opinion. She 
walked on ; hut, five minutes after, she said, with emo- 
tion : 

“ I have always fancied that, if ever I gave any one 
the dear name I have long ceased to use — the name of 
‘ Mother ’ — I should feel a fount of tenderness open within 
me that I have so much wished for. But it was not so ; 
I felt no opening of the heart. During the latter part of 
our visit all seemed dead within me. I could hardly bring 
myself to call Madame Gosselin ‘ Mother ; ’ and the kiss 
she gave me left an impression of dread.” 

“ I did not think you were romantic, my child.” 

“ I do not think I am.” 

“You were charmed with Madame Gosselin when she 
dined at our house.” 

“ Then I had not called her ‘ Mother.’ ” 

“ What did she do ? ” 

“Nothing. I only feel sure she will never love me.” 

“ What does that matter, if you have George’s 
love?” 

“ True ; but there is something worse behind. I don’t 
think I can ever love her.” 

“ Don’t worry yourself about that.” . 

“ I won’t worry myself, but it makes me sorry.” 

Berthe, as she said this, did it with that gentle self- 
possession that was natural to her — that of a conscience 
void of offense, which has no fears of the result of a strug- 
gle, but would rather not have to win a victory. 

In order to reassure her father, she added, smiling : 

“ It is a thing I must accept, and I do accept it. But 
I wish I could have loved my husband’s mother, just as I 
should have hoped my husband would have loved my 
own.” 


206 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


‘‘ Are you afraid of this good woman’s influence over 
our young savant f ” 

‘‘No.” 

“ Well, what then ? ” 

“ Indeed, papa, I think I must have been a little ‘ ro- 
mantic,’ as you call it. I will be so no more. After gazing 
at death, one ought not to be afraid to look at life. I will 
only try to make my husband love me twice as much. He 
will owe me that for my disappointment in his mother.” 

She smiled and appeared pleased with this idea, and 
seemed as if she had told her father everything. But 
she still kept half her secret ; and when she got home, 
and had gone to her own chamber, she said to herself : 

“ That woman will hate me — and I — ” 

As she did not like, even in the secret of her heart, to 
have a feeling of hatred to be ashamed of, she looked into 
her glassi if to keep herself from saying the word. 

“ My mission,” she continued, earnestly, “ my mission 
shall be to hinder her from doing evil ! ” 

She turned from her glass, which rarely long reflected 
her sweet image, and, going toward the vase in which she 
had that morning placed George Gosselin’s roses, she whis- 
pered, as she bent over them, kissed them, and hid her 
face among their petals : 

“Yes, my beloved! Genius and child thou art! 
Thou canst trust me in this, too. I have loved thee for 
thy goodness, thine intelligence, thy truth — for every- 
thing that is great and good. I love thee now the more 
for thy weakness ; and I will defend thee henceforward 
by my love against the selflsh love and evil influence 
of thine own mother.” 


THE WILL IS OPENED, 


207 


CHAPTER XYII. 

THE WILL IS OPENED. 

The murder of Captain Kernuz made a prodigious stir 
in Lorient and Kerantrec — we dare not say, caused uni- 
versal grief, for the event was mysterious, rather than 
sorrowful, to the public in general. 

The newspapers commented upon the information which 
they got from the coinmissaire of police, and M. Pleumeur’s 
theory was the first that was put into circulation. It gave 
a set to the current of public opinion ; so much so, that the 
judges thought proper to give warning to the local press 
that it had better not say too much upon the subject, lest 
the law, when prepared to act, might find itself forestalled, 
and the guilty party, having been forewarned, might get 
out of the way. 

As for the funeral, it has been talked of ever since. The 
burial of Captain Kernuz is even now held up as the model 
of a funeral solemnity. One might be pardoned a bull 
on the occasion, if one were tempted to remark that the 
captain would have been highly gratified could he have 
witnessed the beautiful procession of which he was the 
hero. 

True, they did not carry before the coffin the blue globe 
which had so often floated through the captain’s- day- 
dreams; and the goldiQTi fleur-de-lis of the old coat-of-arms 
of the sailors’ company of Lorient was replaced by his own 
roses. But everything the church could do to furnish em. 
blems and decorations was done on the occasion, and an im- 
mense concourse of people, on that bright summer morn- 


208 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


ing, following the remains of the richest inhabitant of Ker- 
antrec, completed the spectacle by a sort of apotheosis. 

George Gosselin and Pornic were chief mourners. 

Captain Kernuz had no relations in that neighbor- 
hood. The absence of all legal relatives seemed a pre- 
sumption that he might have some illegal ones, who had 
not been able to put up with the prospect of being sup- 
planted in his testament. This conclusion was not strict- 
ly logical, but imagination is livelier than logic ; and it 
was much more melodramatic to imagine such a reason 
for the tragedy, than simply set it down to highway rob- 
bery, or the desire of a mutinous and wicked crew to be 
revenged. 

The evident deep grief of George Gosselin touched 
the whole city ; and that of Madame Gosselin was a theme 
of edification for the pious of the community. Public 
opinion sympathized with George’s tears, and prayed with 
Madame Gosselin ; and its prayers invariably implored, 
not only the punishment of the guilty, but a blessing on 
the innocent likely to suffer. 

Therefore when, two days later, the public ascertained 
that Captain Kernuz had left a will ; that the will had 
been placed by him in the hands of his lawyer ; that the 
lawyer had handed it over to the chief judge ; that the 
chief judge had read it, and that in it George Gosselin, in 
the warmest terms, was made sole inheritor of all the prop- 
erty, both real and personal, of the late captain, charged 
only with an annuity to Pornic, and a request that George 
would always take good care of his most faithful follower 
— when all this, we say, was made known in Lorient and 
Kerantrec, there was a general explosion of satisfaction. 
The murderer had been disappointed, and good men were 
none the worse, except for the loss of an honest man. 


THE WILL IS OPENED. 


209 


The zeal of the law, and the activity of its search, 
were somewhat influenced by this general approval. There 
was only a ghost to be avenged ; and ghosts gave up their 
rights to he obeyed when they left off coming back to 
earth to insist on having them. 

In Paris the inquiry was steadily pursued, partly for 
love of detection as an art, and partly because the papers 
made a stir about it. In the provinces there is less scru- 
pulosity about mere theory, and more practical sense. The 
murderer had failed in his object — that is, in his ultimate 
purpose. That was a great and positive satisfaction. So 
much was certain, at any rate ; and the law, like public 
opinion, might have to put up with that, and nothing 
more. 

It never came into anybody’s head to guess that Cap- 
tain Kernuz had left his house that morning to revoke his 
will. If this idea — one too foolish to be entertained for a 
moment — did indeed pass through the minds of the pro- 
cureur imperial and the juge dHnstniction, it was dis- 
missed at once with anger and disdain. 

Could any one suspect Pornic ? Could any one accuse 
George Gosselin ? Who else, besides these two most 
worthy heirs, could have had any interest in hindering 
Captain Kemuz from revoking his kindness to themselves. 
And who, without insulting honor and fidelity in Pornic, 
and truth and disinterested gratitude in George, could 
have presumed to suppose them capable of committing a 
murder prematurely to secure the promised inheritance ? 

Further, what reason could Captain Kernuz have had 
to disinherit the only two human beings whom he loved ? 
Captain Gosselin’s letter had disappeared ; but Madame 
Gosselin — that most pious lady — deposed as to its con- 
tents. The letter, she said, had been full of complaints 


210 


MADAME GOSSELIM. 


against liis luck in this world, and denunciations against 
a crew of mutinous and unruly sailors. That was all. 

A search was made for some of the sailors who had 
come home after their shipwreck with Captain Gosselin, hut 
they were not to be found. The man who had brought 
the letter had reshipped and gone to sea ; he was not to 
be got at. Pornic, besides, testified that he had seen the 
man off by the railroad. The messenger, therefore, could 
not have committed the crime ; and if he had had any in- 
terest in destroying Captain Gosselin’s letter, he certainly 
would not have handed it to Captain Kemuz. 

As French justice always must arrest somebody, in 
order to keep up its authority and justify its own opinion 
of its activity, the police took up two tramps, a ship-car- 
penter, and three traveling sailors. But they were all set 
at liberty again, and the matter remained open, though, 
by the end of a week, the gendarmes were no longer very 
zealous, nor were any very extraordinary efforts made to 
carry on the inquiry. 

In vain George Gosselin and Pornic pressed and im- 
plored the magistrates. Every day they both appeared 
before the court to inquire what had been done, and to 
suggest further inquiry. Pornic thought of nothing but 
revenge. George regularly consulted M. Pleumeur as to 
each possibility that crossed his mind, and the results of 
these conferences with his master he as regularly commu- 
nicated to the magistrates, without ever throwing any use- 
ful light on the affair. The excitement of the young en- 
gineer, instead of growing calmer, became, at last, a sort 
of restless melancholy, with starts and spasms of indigna- 
tion ; but by degrees it absorbed him less entirely. 

As for Pornic, when he came to the conclusion that the 
law was not going to avenge his captain, he sank into a 


TEE WILL IS OPENED. 


211 


sullen silence ; going and coming, waiting upon George 
as he had waited on the captain, growing more and more 
attached to the young engineer, but caring for no one 
else ; nourishing, indeed, both hatred and mistrust of all 
other persons about him. 

Sometimes early in the morning, or late at night, be- 
fore or after business hours, Pornic would come and stand 
near George, without saying a word ; but there was mute 
entreaty in his face, and question in his anxious eyes. 

“ Nothing new, Pornic,” George would answer. And 
Pornic, knowing what he meant, would sigh, squeeze his 
young master’s hand, look kindly at him with a brighten- 
ing in his eyes, well knowing that he, too, had devoted 
himself to the same purpose as he had done, and would 
then go back slowly to watch and work. In every human 
being he beheld a possible accomplice of the murderer, if 
not the actual murderer himself. 

George, on learning that he was captain Kernuz’s 
heir, had a proud feeling of repugnance to his good-for- 
tune. It seemed to profane — or to tend to profane — his 
grief. Any temptation to feel pride in being rich appeared 
to him like sacrilege. He had no need of all that money, 
to feel gratitude toward the memory of Captain Kernuz. 
Since the step taken by M. Mauroy and his daughter, his 
future happiness did not hang upon this fortune, which 
seemed to wound, and crush under its golden weight, the 
purity and delicacy of his sorrow. 

George, when he left the lawyer’s office, went to the 
house of M. Mauroy. Berthe was frightened at his pale 
face. 

‘‘ Has anything painful happened ? ” she asked, with a 
gleam of anxiety in her eyes. 

“Judge for yourself,” replied George, whose face 


212 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


grew very red. ‘‘ Captain Kernuz has left a will. I am 
his heir.” 

“ And are you not worthy — from your love to him, and 
from your sorrow for his loss — of this proof of his affec- 
tion ? ” 

“ It seems to me, Berthe, that something deep and hal- 
lowed in my heart is wounded by this sudden change in 
my prospects, coming to me, as it does, through such a 
crime. Ah ! I declare to you, I hate that murderer with 
more fury than before, and desire more eagerly than ever 
that he should fall into the hands of justice ! ” 

“Why should you say all this to me, George? Do 
you suppose I doubt you ? ” 

“ Oh ! Berthe, I was so proud of having won you by 
my love, and of enriching you hereafter by my labor ! ” 

“ Be always proud of both, dear George ! ” and, as 
George made a gesture of dissent, Berthe went on : 

“ Take care, mon ami / If you make this money of 
such importance, I may become jealous of your riches. 
May not the world say that I have accepted you because 
you have grown wealthy ? ” 

“ What ! you, Berthe — when you came to me at the 
moment of my ruin and despair ? ” 

“We did rightly — did we not? ” said the young girl, 
with a bright smile. 

“ I shall bless you for that step forever ! ” 

“Then let the remembrance of it help you to bear 
up under this unexpected good-fortune. This money will 
give you the opportunity to carry out great plans, and me 
the means to be more liberal in my charities.” 

After that, George, a little relieved, carried his scruples 
to M. Pleumeur. That mathematician said, coldly : 

“ I expected it all along.” 


THE WILL IS OPENED. 


213 


‘‘ I did not.” 

“ I did. When I saw you weeping for Captain Kernuz 
beside this table, I said to myself, that, though I could not 
blame your tears, his death would open life to you.” 

“ Cher maitrCy I implore you,” said George, clasping his 
hands, “ do not try to make me regard as a happy chance 
the crime that I will live to avenge ! ” 

“You will not avenge it.” 

“ Do you think my grateful remembrance of Captain 
Kernuz will ever diminish ? ” 

M. Pleumeur shrugged his shoulders : 

“I think you are now rich. I think you will have 
plenty to do in employing this fortune to the advantage 
of your talents and ambition. An accident — ” 

“ Call it a ‘ crime ! ’ ” 

“Well, then, a crime, if you choose to give that name 
to a deed whose true character is a mystery. A crime has 
placed you in a position which brings you face to face with 
an absorbing reality. Leave conjectures to the magis- 
trates, and confine yourself to your duty — your real duty.” 

“ Punishment is a duty, too.” 

“Punishment! Is it for you to punish? You have 
called upon society to assist you in your indignation. Soci- 
ety must now punish, if she can. ‘ Punish ’ is a formidable 
word ! You are too young to understand all the meaning 
it contains,” added M. Pleumeur, in a deep, sarcastic voice. 
“ With your kind heart, you know not what cruelty and 
what injustice are committed under the guise of punish- 
ment. If Captain Kernuz had died without a will — if M. 
Mauroy had declined to receive you as his partner and 
son-in-law, you would have been punished ; and what 
for? For your trust, your enthusiasm, and your delu- 
sions. Happily for justice, M. Kernuz had no chance to 


214 


MADAME GOSSELIJV. 


revoke bis excellent bequests ; and the will is perfectly 
regular.” 

George that day suffered more than he had ever done 
before from the pitiless realism of the man whose every 
thought he would gladly have reflected. He cut short his 
visit to M. Pleumeur, and went to find his mother. 

Madame Gosselin did not attempt to disturb his pur- 
poses of vengeance. She only gave a keen, sharp, femi- 
nine smile — intended to revenge herself on Berthe — and 
said : 

How I understand the visit of M. Mauroy and his 
daughter. They knew that that will was in existence.” 

George started up at this remark, and suddenly quitted 
his mother, as he had quitted M. Pleumeur. He went and 
shut himself up in his own room, to hide his shame at this 
inheritance, about which every one insisted on congratu- 
lating him, when the only thing he was proud of was the 
willingness he was conscious of having felt to begin life 
poor, and to sacrifice, if needful to his benefactor’s mem- 
ory, his youth, his love, and his ambition. 


CHAPTER XYIII. 

HAPPINESS. 

Two years have passed. Captain Kernuz has a mar- 
ble monument upon a granite base in one of the most 
beautiful spots in the cemetery, not far from the tomb of 
the poet Brizeux. George insisted that the name of Cap- 
tain Gosselin should be inscribed on the same monument 
as that of his friend. 


JTAPPmUSS. 


215 


The police have made no discoveries as to the murder. 
Every now and then comes a sudden rent, as it were, in the 
indifference of the public upon the subject — an awakening 
of fresh interest in it for a moment ; and every thief ar- 
rested is cross-examined as to his antecedents, with a view 
to connect him with the tragedy. The police have kept 
the measure of the murderer’s footprint ; but it has proved 
as hard to find a foot that will fit it, as it was to find a lady 
to wear Cinderella’s slipper. 

George never forgets his vow. At the smallest indi- 
cation of a clue, he presents himself at the palais de justice ; 
but he always comes back discouraged and disappointed. 
Pornic no longer follows up such chances ; he watches and 
waits. It seems as if some inspiration warns him to re- 
main at his post. He is always silent, but has grown less 
fierce and morose as time goes on. He has the bonhomie 
of a cunning old bear, who lets his prey approach him till 
it is near enough to be hugged to death, because he knows 
he has not the power to spring upon it till it is near. With- 
out entertaining any positive suspicion, Pornic has enter- 
tained presentiments ; an occasional uncertain ray of light 
breaks through the thick darkness of his son-ow. 

George is married, and has a son. His happiness as a 
husband, his pride as a father, shine so brightly in his 
eyes, that in public he has to draw a veil over his felicity, 
and only to allow it to shine forth in private life, at home 
and in the bosom of his family while a sense of the many 
blessings that surround him feeds the constant fire of his 
inspirations. He is the partner of M. Mauroy, and employs 
in his calling the fortune he has inherited from Captain Ker- 
nuz ; always remembering that the time may come when 
he may feel himself obliged to give it up. He looks upon 
it now as a sort of gilded tool intrusted to him by Destiny, 


216 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


but as no excuse for pleasant idleness nor for parvenue 
vanity. He is as much in earnest about his work as he is 
about his happiness, and has become — without place and 
without title — one of the principal personages of Lorient, 
building great vessels on improved plans, and stimulating 
the emulation of all the active workers around him. He 
is in the plenitude of his prosperity and usefulness. George 
is happy. 

Yet George has not quite forgotten sorrow, though his 
tears are now only seen by the wife who comforts him ; 
and if one drops upon the baby-face of his little son, the 
baby wakes and smiles back into the face of its father. 

When he thinks of the poor captain unavenged ; when, 
as he walks on the sea-shore, a sudden squall of wind 
makes the waves foam, and flings into his face a dash of 
salt brine, he sonietimes starts and shivers. He fancies 
that the corpse of Captain Kefnuz stirs in its burial-place 
under its marble monument ; he fancies he sees, toss- 
ing among the loose sea- weed in the waves, and cast up 
upon the sands, the remains of him whom he would so 
gladly have better known, and better loved and comfort- 
ed during the last sad years of his existence. 

After such moments, he walks back slowly to his beau- 
tiful home ; he passes through his immense ship-yards and 
his active workshops, and braces himself for some great 
future struggle with some mystery, unseen as yet, and con- 
nected with the ocean. 

Berthe comes to meet him on the threshold of his home, 
holding her baby. He knows not which of them has the best 
right to the first kiss, and his sigh for sad remembrances 
dies away into a sigh of rapture. He has been grieving 
over his O'wn inability to avenge the deed, but now he con- 
gratulates himself that he is growing every day in power 


HAPPINESS. 


217 


and authority, so that, when the moment of discovery ar- 
rives, he will be better able to accomplish the task that his 
sense of duty has assigned him. 

Physically he is little changed. His face still shows 
the influence of every waft of enthusiastic fancy; his eyes 
are keen as ever ; his whole soul works from the inward 
to the outward, disclosing itself in all he says by more than 
words. But his mouth is now more often compressed as 
he reflects, though even in its sterner moments it is soft- 
ened by a smile. The ruddy color in his cheeks is some- 
what less vivid than formerly. His general bearing is 
more grave, and youthful gravity means elegance with an 
added charm. 

Berthe delights in his new air of dignity, and laughs 
at him about it. As her husband grows more grave, she 
grows more lively. She declares that George is studying 
how to inspire his little son with true respect ; but her 
influence would hinder this new dignity from becoming 
pride or infatuation, if George were capable of so pervert- 
ing the noble outcome of his inner soul. 

I have said, when speaking of Berthe Mauroy, that she 
was a pretty girl rather than a beautiful woman. Mater- 
nity has ripened her ; and when she holds her baby to 
her bosom — for she suckles him herself — there spreads over 
her brow, her cheeks, her ample bosom, a gleam of some- 
thing that would have made any painter in the world pro- 
nounce her lovely. 

It is a truth almost without exception, that the high- 
est beauty is the expression of an honest heart and a sweet 
disposition. 

How often one sees maidens of eighteen, fresh with 
the dews of morning, dowered apparently with the gift to 
please, whose summer-time one prophesies will be long, 
10 


218 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


whose autumn will be bright and beautiful, whose lives will 
know no winter ! They marry. By degrees the dews 
have lost their freshness. It has become the fashion to ad- 
mire them, so that for a few years they are admired still ; 
then, before their features have grown set, before any of 
the cares of life or of maternity have cast their shadows 
over the curves of youth, they seem to have lost their 
grace and beauty. A day comes when one who knew 
them best notices them attentively — in order, perhaps, to 
describe them to some other persons— and the observer is 
astonished to find they are no longer beautiful. Then, 
in order to accommodate reality to his remembrance, he is 
constrained to say : ‘‘ Ah ! if you had only seen her be- 
fore her marriage — when she was eighteen ! ” 

Yet, probably, she whose beauty is thus buried among 
the things of the past is not more than twenty-four. Her 
beauty departed because she sought for admiration rather 
than affection. 

Others there are who at eighteen, like Berthe Mauroy, 
have never been much noticed for their beauty. If their 
good sense and sweet manners chance to attract attention, 
the observer finds them charming ; but this compliment is 
not admiration in disguise ; their beauty is not reckoned 
upon ; they are fulfilling their ordinary primordial exist- 
ence ; they are the grass and leaves of early spring-time; 
their more precocious sisters are its flowers. 

They marry. Verdure springs up around them. 
Grateful for happiness, they have an earnest desire to keep 
and to increase the love and the respect accorded to their 
qualities. Self-admiration is unknown to them. But, 
before long, love, slowly rising above the home-horizon, 
sheds around them its transforming light, and they be- 
come transfigured. 


HAPFMESS, 


219 


How often does one say of a young mother with her 
baby at her breast, with a dreamy smile upon her lips, as 
she watches radiant visions in the clouds : “ How strange ! 
She was insignificant before her marriage ; now she is 
lovely ! ” 

This change has taken place because she had so little 
self-assertion before marriage, and because she now tries 
to make the most of all she is and can be for the sake of 
her husband and her child. Beauty that fades out after 
a woman’s marriage must have been lighted from outside, 
and not from within the home. Those women who ex- 
pand in their own households, shed abroad the brightness 
of home-life, and do honor to those dear ones for whose 
sakes they desire to love and be loved, to be good and to 
be attractive. 

Berthe has become thus beautified. She is happy in 
her husband, in her infant, and in the steadfast fulfillment 
of her duties to them both. 

Captain Kernuz’s grand villa is closed, but it is care- 
fully kept up in every particular. George, his wife, and 
Pornic, often pass part of a day there, when the great 
engineer — who has become a great ship -yard proprietor — 
needs some repose, and takes a holiday in tete-d'tUe soli- 
itude with her who is one with himself — a solitude which 
the presence of Pomic never seems to disturb. 

As for M. Mauroy’s dwelling-house, it has enlarged, as 
well as his fortune and his ship-yards. George has tried 
to make it suitable to the rank that the firm of Mauroy 

Gosselin has taken in the community ; while Berthe 
endeavors to rule her household in a manner worthy of 
the position of her husband. M. Mauroy was George’s 
partner very much as Cambac4res and Lebrun were the 
partners of the First Consul. He abdicated completely 


220 


MADAME G0S8ELIN, 


after his daughter’s marriage. The question whether he 
knew of the existence and validity of Captain Kemuz’s 
will at the time he took the seemingly disinterested step 
of seeing George, had never been determined by any one 
but Madame Gosselin. At any rate, M. Mauroy had dis- 
played his discernment when he did so, and daily proved 
his confidence in his young son-in-law, by giving up to him 
the entire direction of his ship-yards and his counting- 
house. He himself became a martyr to municipal labors. 
Each man must bear his burden. 

George never complained of his. When, after a long 
day passed at his desk or in business discussions, he re- 
joined his wife at home, the little pink arms of his babe 
would lift off the weight that bent his brow and bowed 
his shoulders. 

Madame Gosselin lived in her son’s household, but took 
no part in his life. She was the shadow of his home. She 
never left off widow’s mourning. The delicate complexion 
of her pallid face was beginning to change to a sort of 
waxen-yellow. Habitually she kept her eyes half -closed, 
but sometimes they would gleam out fierce and restless, as 
if some sharp pang shot through her suddenly. 

She was believed to be constantly at her devotions in 
her chamber ; but she went less often to church than be- 
fore. 

George got frightened once or twice at the strange, 
waxen look in her pale face, and questioned her about her 
health. Madame Gosselin declared and protested that 
she was perfectly well. 

George dared not push his inquiries further. He 
owned to himself that his mother was not happy in his 
household, and yet he did all he could to leave her at full 
liberty, and to enable her to live in her retirement with 


HAPPINESS. 


221 


ease and dignity. Berthe’s conduct toward her mother- 
in-law was irreproachable. No unpleasant word had ever 
passed between them ; but neither wanted to overpass the 
gulf which separated them. The baby, which Berthe 
every night and every morning held out to its grand- 
mother to kiss, was a suspension-bridge thrown for a 
moment over the abyss, but withdi’awn as soon as the 
caress was given. 

‘‘What do you think can be the matter with my 
mother ? ” George often asked his wife. 

“ Indeed, I do not know, mon amV* 

Berthe spoke the truth, but felt that it was of no use 
adding that there was a secret antipathy between herself 
and her mother-in-law, and that . while, on her part, she 
fulfilled her duty as a daughter with the utmost faithful- 
ness, she kept the strictest watch that Madame Gosselin 
should acquire no influence in their household. 

She was protecting herself, her child, and husband, 
against an influence she would not discuss and could not 
define, but which she felt might be harmful and sinister. 

Madame Gosselin submitted without murmuring to this 
perpetual quarantine. After every meal she went back to 
her own chamber. She had to be pressed even to remain 
to dessert, and Berthe was almost obliged (since this was 
no dangerous concession) to force the baby into her anns 
before she would consent to fondle him. The moral som- 
nambulism of which we have already spoken was growing 
upon her, or, perhaps, more properly speaking, had now 
got complete possession of her. The widow walked, 
thought, and existed in a dream, which every day shut 
closer in around her ; but the dream must have had dread- 
ful visions, for she no longer smiled even in sarcasm. 

M. Pleumeur, having been entreated by his friend and 


222 


MADAME G0S8ELIN. 


pupil to give up his ruined cottage, had lived in some 
rooms fitted up for him in the works, over the counting- 
house. He had been very precise in the conditions he 
made before consenting to live upon the premises. He 
superintended the accounts, overlooked the workshops, 
rose early, and retired late to rest — if, indeed, he went to 
bed at all, for it was known he very often went his rounds 
during the night, and visited every part of the ship-yards. 
He received a small salary, the amount of which he fixed 
himself, threatening to go away if they undertook to in- 
crease it, or to interfere with his liberty by too frequent 
invitations to the mansion. 

He took his meals alone in a little sitting-room next to 
the counting-house; always had at least an hour’s talk each 
day with George about the interests of the establishment ; 
paid short visits to Madame Berthe at long but regular 
intervals ; and never met Madame Gosselin, which gave 
rise to an impression that he did not like her. In short, 
he occupied himself with jealous zeal about the interests 
of Mauroy & Gosselin ; exercised with stem authority the 
powers of constraint given him over the workmen ; and 
kept up, in the midst of all the stir of that immense estab- 
lishment, the same austere and meditative life, cold, long- 
suffering, and uncomplaining, which he had led for years 
in his little cottage. When he moved his books and fur- 
niture to his new quarters, he brought with them his 
habitual loneliness and those icy manners which repelled 
the curious, and kept both questioners and sympathizers 
at bay. 

In general appearance he had not changed, and yet he 
had grown older. The two years he had passed under 
the peaceful shelter of this prosperous and happy house- 
hold had made his eyes larger, worn hollows in his tern- 


HAPPINESS. 


223 


pies, and deepened the iron lines on each side of his mouth. 
These were the only signs he gave that any hidden strug- 
gle was going on within him. 

Pornic, who had rather mollified his opinions about 
Madame Gosselin, did not know what to make of M. 
Pleumeur. The pride and stiffness of so learned a man 
offended hut impressed him. Accustomed to obey, he 
liked a firm will ; and M. Pleumeur’s devotion to George’s 
interests conciliated him. 

Pornic sometimes compared himself and M. Pleumeur 
to two watch-dogs of different breeds. He himself was 
the Newfoundland, fond of his friends, rough to his ene- 
mies, the playmate of the children, barking before biting. 
M. Pleumeur, on the other hand,, he fancied like a bull- 
dog, silent, but with a fearful grip, who would bite any- 
body presuming to pat him. The only thing that entirely 
pleased Pornic about M. Pleumeur was, that he evidently 
detested Madame Gosselin, and that his infiuence some- 
how kept “ the ghost ” in her place. 

Berthe had not forgotten how M. Pleumeur brought 
her the roses gathered in the captain’s garden, and she 
was always grateful to him for his attentions on that day. 
She knew that George had the greatest respect for his old 
master, yet was a little afraid of him. She saw him 
ever at work as a most useful subordinate, and she would 
have reproached herself had she been deficient in gratitude 
to such an invaluable assistant to her husband ; but noth- 
ing could make her really like him. She permitted him 
to maintain the distance he had marked out for himself, 
not willing to hurt his misanthropic pride, nor to meet 
with a repulse if she presumed to be too kind to him. M. 
Pleumeur understood her feelings, and a sort of tacit 
mutual understanding was established between them, each 


224 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


fearing the other, and each endeavoring to avoid any col- 
lision. 

Such, at the end of two years, was the situation of the 
various characters in this story. George and Berthe, a 
charming pair, both happy and full of intelligence, were 
growing up and flourishing between two shades — Madame 
Gosselin and M. Pleumeur. These shadows watched their 
growth and strength, but dared not, desired not, to take 
any part in their prosperity. 

Pomic continued on the watch. 

Poor Captain Kernuz, could he only have lived to see 
the present prosperity of the firm of Mauroy & Gosselin, 
would have been still more anxious to assume the coat-of- 
ai-ms of the old sailors of the East Indian Company of 
Lorient ; and the charms of the young mother, watching 
over the happiness and prosperity of her husband, with her 
baby at her breast, might have further reminded him of 
the golden fleur-de-lis above the azure globe with its 
motto, ^^Florebo ! ” 

Although no fatal presentiment directly intruded on 
their happiness, each lived a life of ever-increasing pros- 
perity with a sort of dim uneasiness, a kind of vague fore- 
boding that at some future day he might be entangled in 
some painful complication, should the moment ever arrive 
to revenge the crime that thus far had escaped punish- 
ment. George, especially, had a feverish sense of always 
being on the watch, and others caught the feeling through 
sympathy with him. 

Hamlet renounced love that he might dedicate him- 
self entirely to vengeance. But Hamlet knew he had to 
punish his own mother, and that nothing could release 
him from the obligation he had assumed. He rooted every 
tender feeling from his heart, that he might harden him- 


HAPPINESS. 


225 


self to fulfill his destiny. Had Ophelia become Hamlet’s 
wife, would she have anned him for his mission? Would 
she have doubled his zeal to carry out his father’s wishes ? 

If Ophelia had had the simple rectitude, the brave 
heart, the calm, superior good sense, of Berthe Mauroy, 
she would not have interfered to defeat the cause of jus- 
tice, but would have prevented the course of legitimate 
punishment from going astray, and at the last destroying, 
by inciting to doubtful violence, the avenger with the 
criminal. 

The event that led to Hamlet’s death was his abandon- 
ment of Ophelia, not his vengeance on his father-in-law, 
his incestuous uncle. Had Hamlet been married, his tri- 
umph might have been complete and safe. His melancholy 
would have been as great, not so his remorse. 

George never imagined that the part of Hamlet, and 
a worse still, might one day fall to him ; and Berthe, with 
her practical good sense, certainly never suspected herself 
of any relation to the Ophelia of tragedy ; but she devoted 
herself, with all the earnestness of a faithful heart, to the 
happiness of her husband. She was ready to aid him in 
all his duties, to comfort him in all his trials ; and as she 
sat nursing her infant, her smiles were not all of thanks 
for the blessings that surrounded her ; sometimes she 
smiled a proud defiance to that unknown future which she 
vaguely felt had something in it that she ought to dread. 
Whatever it might be, she resolved it should not conquer 
her. 

Very often, after breakfast, Berthe and her husband 
would walk up and down a little garden which had been 
laid out between the dwelling-house and the workshops. 
Their walk rarely lasted more than twenty minutes — a 
half-hour at most ; then George would go off to his busi- 


226 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


ness with the dews of soft, conjugal and filial kisses on 
his lips and forehead. 

When the baby was awake, Madame Gosselin also 
sometimes went at this hour into the garden with her 
son and daughter-in-law, and, while they walked up and 
down the gravel paths, she would sit down and hold her 
grandson in her arms. 

It was very seldom she allowed herself this brief rec- 
reation. All were pleased when she took it. Berthe, 
even, would do her best to keep the child awake at that 
hour, that Madame Gosselin might enjoy the pleasure of 
having him. 

One day in the month of August — the same month in 
which, two years before. Captain Kemuz had been mur- 
dered — George, in rising from the breakfast-table, went 
with his wife into the garden. 

Baby was there already with his nurse, who was walk- 
ing up and down. Madame Gosselin took him from her. 
Leaving George and Berthe to take their usual walk, she 
sent away the nurse, took the nursling in her arms, and 
went quietly away, bending over the babe to shade it 
from the sunshine, and sat down on a bench overhung by 
acacias. 

An artist would have been struck by the strange light- 
ing of her half -closed eyes, as in those few steps she looked 
down upon the baby in her arms. 

Was it for that little babe alone that, as she sat down 
under the shade, she became once more beautiful and 
almost young ? Her feeble smile of satisfaction was not 
false at this moment. She bent over her burden. It al- 
most seemed as if she were covering it with kisses, though 
she barely touched it with her lips. She was afraid, but 
not of wakening it, for baby was already awake, and look- 


HAPPINESS. 


227 


ing at her with w^ide-open eyes — those glorious child-eyes, 
terrible in their innocence to the conscience that is bur- 
dened by some dreadful crime. 

Madame Gosselin knew no baby-songs to amuse the 
infant. She had forgotten her own motherhood, her own 
child’s lullabies, and had not yet served her apprenticeship 
to the part of grandmother. She sat looking at her little 
grandson, rather imploring, if we may so speak, a bless- 
ing from the little one than giving him a benediction. 

George and Berthe were always careful, during one 
of these little treats of Madame Gosselin, to keep away 
from her — to leave her alone, and to disappear in the 
more distant walks of the garden. This morning they 
did more. When the hour of George’s departure came, 
Berthe went to the bench on which Madame Gosselin was 
sitting, asked if the baby wanted anything, and then said : 

“ I am going to walk with George through the ship- 
yards ; I may be gone rather more than a quarter of an 
hour. Will that be too long for you, ma mhre f ” 

“ No, ma jille^'^ replied Madame Gosselin, with a look 
that expressed real gratitude. 

Berthe, having received this answer, ran into the house, 
and came back in a moment with a large straw hat, which 
she put upon her head ; then she took her husband’s arm, 
turned round a^ she did so to kiss her hand to the baby — 
a gesture in which there was also an adieu for Madame 
Gosselin — and husband and wife went on their way, with 
a murmur of pleasant chat and ripples of low laugh- 
ter, walking with that elastic step which seems inclined 
to run or fly, but which remains an even gait out of def- 
erence to propriety. 

Madame Gosselin staid by herself, enjoying the pleas- 
ures that the moment afforded her. When she was quite 


228 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


certain that her son and his wife had left the garden, she 
looked several times around her. 

A noise of steps, the grating of a foot upon the gravel, 
was heard upon a little path close to the bench, and M. 
Pleumeur, who had probably been there some minutes, 
hidden behind a clump of trees, came forward, with his 
pale face, and joined the babe and grandmother. 

Madame Gosselin said to M. Pleumeur : 

“ Take care ! ” 

“ There is no danger,” replied M. Pleumeur, with more 
animation than he generally showed when speaking. 
‘‘ Who would be surprised if I were seen here ? ” 

‘‘ With me ? ” 

With you and the child.” 

‘‘ I am always so afraid — 

“ Silence ! ” replied the old mathematical professor, 
roughly ; “ we have no time for all that. I have only five 
minutes to look at him.” 

So saying, this stern old man leaned forward, bent 
over the child, and went down on his knees before Ma- 
dame Gosselin, who was holding the baby with both hands, 
sitting on her lap, smiling, and moving its little arms. 

M. Pleumeur looked at the human fiower with hungry 
eagerness. A brightness shone out of his ten-ible eyes, 
and lighted first on the blue orbs, then on the soft, pink 
cheeks, then on the little dimples of the child. 

Madame Gosselin took it into her head that the great 
arithmetician was looking into the book of Fate, and draw- 
ing up a horoscope of her grandson. It never occurred to 
her to believe in his admiring love. 

“ He will be as full of talent as his father, will he 
not ? ” she said, in a low voice, and then added, with a 
little hesitation, “ and as rich, too ? ” 


HAPPINESS. 


229 


M. Pleumeur shrugged his shoulders. 

“ What matter for that ! ” he growled. 

“You will be his master — just as you were master to 
George.” 

“ No ; one pupil was enough. I would not like to find 
him ungrateful. Besides, his mother would never like to 
trust him to me.” 

“ George would.” 

“I tell you, no. George always wills just what his 
wife does. You must be mad to think of it ! When he 
gets old enough to be taught, I shall have taken my leave 
of this world. Let me look at him ; that is all I want. 
I do not ask anything more.” 

M. Pleumeur drew a little nearer, still upon his knees, 
and gently, and with an air of strange respect, took one 
of baby’s hands in his own. 

“ How soft his little hand is ! ” he whispered. He 
gave a rapid glance behind him, to see if any one were 
looking at him, and then pressed upon the tiny fingers, 
whose touch made his own tremble, a kiss with the very 
edge of his lij)S. 

An obseiwer might have been reminded of certain vo- 
tive pictures placed in ancient shrines, wherein a rough, 
fierce soldier kneels in humble adoration, lifting to his 
lips the hand of the infant Saviour. 

M. Pleumeur’s dry lips drank in, like milk, the fresh- 
ness of those angel-fingers. The atheist at that moment 
acknowledged a God. 

“ Oh, how good it is ! ” he said, repeating his kiss 
again and again. 

Madame Gosselin was much moved by this unusual 
exhibition of feeling. Her eyes filled with tears, but a 
strange light troubled them. 


230 


MADAME GOSSELIJV. 


“ Denis,” she said, softly, “ what a heart you have ! ” 

But M. Pleumeur did not heed her. He was listening 
to the crowing of the babe, who was throwing, as it were, 
bubbles of little sounds into the air, and puckering up his 
tiny mouth into a comical expression, which made him 
prettier than ever. 

M. Pleumeur laughed. For once his laugh was neither 
forced nor cruel. His face became transfigured. He tried 
to find some baby-talk in which to make answer to the 
baby-sounds he fancied he could comprehend. 

His pallid, bony fingers fiuttered before the baby’s eyes 
to imitate a fiight of little birds ; he chirped a little cry ; 
and when, after a minute, the baby grew tired of that 
amusement, M. Pleumeur set himself to make music, snap- 
ping his fingers like castanets. 

Baby laughed aloud. It was a triumph to M. Pleu- 
meur and Madame Gosselin. A child’s first laugh, so like 
the sound of a little bell, gives ecstasy to parents. It has 
nothing quite human yet, but it rings in all its purity like 
a hymn through human hearts. 

M. Pleumeur, charmed, and filled with joy, drew back 
a little. It seemed as if he almost feared his icy breath 
might stifle or profane the lovely laughter of the little 
child. The keen excess of his own delight brought back 
his melancholy. He had forgotten himself for a moment, 
but remembrance soon came back upon him. A spasm 
passed over his face, and obliterated all signs of the great 
gladness that had lighted up his eyes. A sob burst from 
his bosom. 

“ Ah ! wretch that I am,” he cried, “ when for this I 
was made ! ” 

Madame Gosselin was frightened. She tried to comfort 
yet to caution him. She placed one hand on his shoulder. 


HAPPINESS. 


231 


“ Denis ! ” she said. 

“ Are you afraid I may be overheard ? ” asked M. Pleu- 
meur, with sudden anger. 

“Yes.” 

“ Have I no right to admire the child of my own pu- 
pil ? May I not love him as I loved his father ? Would 
his mother drive me from her child ? Suppose they did 
know that I am not a mere machine to add up figures and 
draught plans, where would the hai-m be ? Are you not 
tired of hating others and of hating yourself ? ” 

“ If I were tired of this life, Denis,” replied Madame 
Gosselin, “ I should have more excuses than you. I am 
not so wise as you ; but I have more patience. I am not 
tired.” 

^^Parbleu! You live with George. You have the right 
to nurse this precious infant — to take care of him; where- 
as, if he were ill, I should not dare even to make too anx- 
ious inquii-ies after his recovery.” 

Nothing could be more out of all precedent than the 
animated tones of M. Pleumeur ; nothing more dramatic 
than the sudden childishness of this cold, stern man, proud 
of his haughty coldness. 

“You are as full of passionate feeling as you were 
thirty years ago,” said Madame Gosselin, in a low tone of 
reproach, which was half-caressing. 

M. Pleumeur looked her full in the face ; and, pale as 
she was, she became paler. 

“Hush!” he said. “Do not poison these brief mo- 
ments ; do not foul this drop of dew by any remembrance 
of the past. I am not in any way reproaching you.” 

“ Denis, I am sorry for you,” she replied. 

“ Why be sorry for me ? ” he answered. “ On the con- 
trary, I had rather be envied for my present happiness. 


232 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


If, later on in life, this little being ever should chance to 
know the joy he has conferred on me, he might well be 
proud of it. But no ! He would laugh at me, if he only 
learned to know me as others do. He would abhor me if 
he knew me as I know myself.” 

M. Pleumeur here stood up struggling with his feelings. 

“ Come,” said he, ‘‘ enough for one day ! I should not 
wish to do this often. He, too, will be a man — and un- 
grateful ! ” 

He walked a step or two away, then turned, and looked 
attentively at the infant. 

“ He looks like his mother,” he said. “ I would rather 
he had looked like George. Yet, I am wrong, if he is to 
be like his mother in character.” 

He paused ; then, turning back to the shady spot in 
which Madame Gosselin sat, he again bent over the child. 

‘‘ Go, dear little creature,” he said, with energy ; “ thou 
must perforce grow up a man, selfish and vain. Whatever 
thy face or thy character may be — ^nay, even if thou 
shouldst some day be my ruin — I shall have loved thee. I 
can press thy little hands. I can embrace thee. I can hold 
thee. Ho one now can dispute thee with me. I have done 
nothing that men call a crime for thy sake to prove I love 
thee. I feel weak and innocent in presence of thy weak- 
ness and thine innocence. For a moment I am at rest ! ” 

So saying, M. Pleumeur took the baby out of Madame 
Gosselin’s arms, held him to his breast, and gave him sev- 
eral warm kisses. 

They were too warm — too energetic. Baby was fright- 
ened, and began to scream. 

“ You hurt him ! ” cried Madame Gosselin, snatching 
him back with a sort of jealous fury, and trying to calm 
his cries. 


LE PAS DE VIS, 


233 


M. Pleumeur was utterly overcome. 

“ I was very wrong,” he whispered. 

“ Somebody is coming ! ” cried the widow. “ I think 
it is his mother. Go away ! ” 

M. Pleumeur had but three steps to make to reach the 
path by which he had approached the spot hidden by the 
clump of acacias. 

It was Berthe, who at the other end of the garden had 
heard her baby’s cry, and who came running, with her hat 
in her hand, not alarmed, but only anxious to offer to her 
little tyrant, who seldom permitted her to be long away, 
the ineffable consolation stored for a baby’s grief in his 
mother’s bosom. 

She found Madame Gosselin hushing the baby on her 
breast. He was still crying. Berthe asked no reason for 
his sobs. She flung her hat upon the ground, sat down on 
the bench beside her mother-in-law, unfastened her dress, 
and soon the cries gave place to the perfect satisfaction of 
infancy. 

“ He was so thirsty ! ” said Berthe, patting him in the 
only place she could reach without disturbing him — that 
reserved for little punishments in after-days. 


CHAPTER XIX.* 

LE PAS DE VIS. 

M. Pleumeur left the garden like a thief, and went 
back into the court upon which the counting-house of the 
establishment opened, with the serenity of a judge about 
to take his seat on the tribunal. He had stopped about 


234 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


two minutes on his way, however, and put his face in both 
his hands to calm and compose it. All trace of emotion 
disappeared. His features were accustomed to wear no 
expression. Nobody was likely to remark that he looked 
paler than before. 

Among the various duties that he insisted on perform- 
ing for George, was that of seeing any workmen who 
sought work at the ship-yards, and of accepting or dis- 
missing them. A careful observer of all customary pre- 
cautions, a skillful and almost infallible physiognomist, 
he never admitted any man whose livret ‘ was not satis- 
factory ; and he also made an attentive personal examina- 
tion of each man, his countenance, addi’ess, and bearing. 
The firm of Mauroy & Gosselin had become distinguished 
for the excellent character of its workmen, and M. Pleu- 
meur’s reputation as a careful superintendent was so well 
established, that any workmen he refused had very little 
chance of getting into any other establishment — unless, 
indeed, he concealed his visit to the great factory of Mau- 
roy & Gosselin, where every new-comer always first ap- 
plied. That very day six carpenters, with their tools, 
stood waiting before the entrance to M. Pleumeur’s office. 

Pornic, who had no especial functions, but who carried 
his zeal into everything, assumed the duty of ushering in 
and keeping an eye upon such applicants. Till they had 
been shorn and weighed^ as his phrase was, by M. Pleu- 
meur, he always regarded them with suspicion. On this 
occasion he was at his post, waiting, and making the others 
wait, but no little astonished at the unwonted absence of 
him who was to pass sentence on them. 

As M. Pleumeur came in sight, the applicants for work 

^ The little memorandum-book carried by French workmen, in which 
their character and antecedents are set down. 


LE FAS DE riS. 


235 


ceased talking, and drew back to let him pass. This man 
of ice seemed almost as if he scattered sharp, glittering 
morsels of his frost about him, and people seemed to have 
a kind of dread of getting hurt if they came too much in 
his way. 

He silently opened the door of his office, of which he 
always kept the key, went in, sat down at his writing- 
table, and made a sign that he was ready to speak to the 
first comer. 

Pomic took the man’s papers, and gave them to M. 
Pleumeur. It did not take him long to decide. A keen 
glance at the workman, a rapid perusal of his livret, two 
or three questions, and it was all over. 

The three first who presented themselves were accept- 
ed without difficulty. No doubt nothing could be said 
against them, though Pornic had a notion that .M. Pleu- 
meur was that morning unusually disposed to indulgence. 

The accepted workmen went off with orders to one of 
the overseers of the ship-yards. Of the three that re- 
mained, two were found not to have their papers in per- 
fect order. They were told they might try to get the 
necessary signatures, and come back if they could do so. 
“ Most certainly,” thought Pomic, “ M. Pleumeur is be- 
side himself with kindness this morning.” 

The sixth man stood in one comer of the room, with 
his arms crossed, and, while his comrades were being ac- 
cepted or dismissed, remained with his eyes riveted on M. 
Pleumeur. 

“Now, then ! ” said Pornic. 

The man moved forward jauntily, with a mocking 
smile upon his lips, dragging one of his legs after him. 

His countenance was not improved by his smile. He 
had a thick and grayish beard, which, parted by the evil 




236 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


grin upon his face, showed a scarred mouth and red lips, 
behind which lay a set of black teeth, irregular but strong. 
His gray eyes were deep-sunk under his eyebrows, and 
his eyebrows were thick like his beard. What little 
could be seen of his eyes showed boldness and cunning. 
His strength was plain enough. His arms and hands dis- 
played it. His blouse was spotted, but not much worn. 
The man had his tools with him, tied up in a handkerchief, 
lying at his feet ; but their presence was rather threaten- 
ing than reassuring. 

‘‘ Your papers ? ” said Pomic. 

“ I haven’t any,” said the man, in an off-hand tone. 

M. Pleumeur looked at him with his most withering 
glance. The man stood the look, and did not quail. 

‘‘You may go ! ” said M. Pleumeur. 

The man did not stir. 

Pornic, astonished and outraged by this refusal and 
want of manners, took him rudely by the arm : 

“ Did you hear ? ” he said. 

“I am not deaf.” 

“Well, then—” 

And Pornic pointed to the half -open door. 

“And I ain’t dumb, either,” said the man; “and I 
have something to say to monsieur.” 

M. Pleumeur had risen from his seat, and, with both 
hands upon the table, stood leaning forward, with his eye- 
brows drawn into a heavy frown, earnestly looking at the 
audacious man who neither acknowledged his authority 
nor quailed before his scrutiny. 

“What have you to say to me?” he asked, in dry, 
sharp tones. 

“Many things.” 

“ Speak out ! ” 


LE PAS BE VIS. 


237 


The man scratched his head. 

“ I don’t like to talk of family affairs before folks,” he 
said. 

“ M. Pleumeur, I shall not leave you,” broke in Pornic. 

M. Pleumeur looked more keenly than ever into the 
very eyes of the new-comer. As he did so he seemed try- 
ing to recall his face to memory. 

“ What is your name ? ” 

“ Ah, true ! I forgot ; I did not introduce myself.” 

The man coughed, spit, and, as he did so, covering his 
mouth, said : 

“ I am Pien’e Borgnot, alias Pas de Vis. Now you 
know ! ” 

M. Pleumeur slowly raised his eyes, as if he were look- 
ing at some writing on the ceiling. 

“ I don’t know,” he said, in so cold a tone that it in- 
timidated his visitor. 

“ Ah ! ” said he, with a forced laugh, “ I see I shall 
have to refresh you memory. Shall I ? ” 

There was a slight movement at the comers of M. 
Pleumeur’s mouth ; it might have been from anger, hut it 
was over in a moment. He replied, in the same cold and 
haughty tone : 

“If you choose.” 

Pierre Borgnot opened his eyes with astonishment.* 
He had lost much of his assurance, but he was not yet 
subdued. 

“ Would you like me to speak to you privately ? ” he 
went on, with an air still defiant, but not so much so as 
before. 

“ You may, if you like,” replied M. Pleumeur, sitting 
down again. “ Pornic, you may go.” 

Pornic was astounded in his turn. His fingers itched 


238 


MADAME GOSSELIJSr. 


to seize the intruder. He wanted to disobey the order ; 
not that he felt curious — not that he felt any distrust of 
M. Pleumeur — ^but merely because he was outraged at the 
audacity of this intruder. He was indignant that the 
dignity of a representative of the firm of Mauroy & 
Gosselin should he set at nought by the impertinence of 
such a man. 

He glanced at M. Pleumeur to see if he meant him to 
obey. Then he cast another glance all round the office, 
to make sure that nothing dangerous was within reach of 
such a visitor ; then he went out, carefully closing the 
door. But he took good care to stand sentinel outside, 
ready to rush in and do battle at the slightest call or the 
least stir in the apartment. 

What passed at that singular interview between Pierre 
Borgnot, alias Pas de Vis, and the solenm M. Pleumeur, 
was very brief and somewhat mysterious. Borgnot came 
close up to the table, and, holding out his right hand — a 
horrid, horny, hairy hand — said, with a familiar laugh : 

“ Good-morning, Denis Rambert ! ” 

M. Pleumeur looked perfectly unmoved. There was 
not even a flutter of his eyelids. His mouth was entirely 
undisturbed. His eyes, however, seemed to grow bright- 
er, as if trying to look into some mystery he could not 
fathom regarding this rough and insolent personage. But 
his pride did not seem wounded. After a moment’s pause, 
he said : 

‘‘ My name is not Denis Rambert.” 

“Hot now, of course ; but it was once — down yonder.” 

M. Pleumeur answered, calmly : 

“ Once ! When ? ” 

“ Twenty years back.” 

“ And where ? ” 


LE FAS DE VIS. 


239 


This time PieiTe Borgnot did not care to speak out 
loud. He stooped forward, with his face as near as he 
could get it to the unwilling ear of his listener, and whis- 
pered two words. 

Of course M. Pleumeur heard them, but no blush 
mounted to his forehead. 

“ Is that all you have to say to me ? ” said he. 

“ I did not come to talk about that at all,” resumed 
Pas de Vis, so astonished that he grew cowed by the per- 
fect self-possession he could never imitate. ‘‘I have a 
livret and certificates like the others. It is not those that 
are wanting, and I would have shown you my papers if I 
had not recognized you. But it struck me that Denis 
Rambert might be apt to recollect the time when he was 
not better off than I was, and that he would give me some- 
thing better in this great factory than he would to those 
mere journeymen carpenters. I was right, eh ? ” 

“ You were wrong,” replied M. Pleumeur in his grav- 
est voice. “ I am not the man you take me for. I shall 
not give you work, and I tell you to go ! ” 

“ To go ! How’s that ? Suppose I won’t go ? ” 

‘‘ Then I shall call in our men yonder, and get them to 
take you to the nearest police-station.” 

“ You dare not ! ” 

“Why not?” 

“ Because I would proclaim you to be Denis Rambert.” 

“ Who would believe you ? Nobody here ; and else- 
where you would have to bring proofs.” 

“ Proofs ! Have I not got a good one ? I recognize 
you ! ” 

“Would you wish to say where you imagine you once 
knew me? To establish my identity, you will have to 
reveal your own.” 


240 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


Pierre Borgnot did not seem altogether anxious to 
boast before the police of Lorient of his former acquaint- 
ance with Denis Rambert. He bit his lips, doubled his 
fists, and, looking up, said : 

“ Come, then, we’ll say no more about it. I won’t try 
to get work in this fine factory, and I rather think I won’t 
stay long in this part of the country : but on one condi- 
tion.” 

He paused, to satisfy his own mind as to the value of 
his hold over the other, and to calculate the probable re- 
sistance of his adversary. M. Pleumeur waited. 

At last Borgnot resumed, in a coaxing tone : 

“You seem to be one of the chief people here. There 
stands a safe, which I don’t suppose can be quite empty. 
Couldn’t you, now — ” 

A gesture clinched the question. 

“ I never give alms.” 

“ Who’s asking for charity ? ” replied Pas de Vis, with 
a stamp of his foot. 

“ Then were you asking my permission to steal ? ” 

This was said with the air of a magistrate. 

The man made an equivocal gesture — it might have 
been of affirmation, hesitation, or menace. 

“ Begone ! ” said M. Pleumeur. 

“ Will you drive me to do my worst ? ” cried the rob- 
ber. 

“ Begone ! ” 

“You had better not provoke me. I warn you.” 

“ Why not?” 

, The brute nature in the man, too long restrained, now 
broke forth; but M. Pleumeur was no easy victim. With- 
out doing more than stepping backward, he was well upon 
his guard ; and when Pas de Vis caught hold, with both 


LE PAS DE VIS. 


241 


hands, of the heavy table loaded with books and ledgers, 
and was about to shove it on one side to get at the man 
he flattered himself he could intimidate, M. Pleumeur had 
had time to seize, in a niche behind him formed by a tall 
book-stand and an iron safe, his gun, which he cocked 
and shouldered. 

Pierre Borgnot stopped short, amazed. The unflinch- 
ing eye of M. Pleumeur, glancing along the barrel of the 
gun, seemed almost bright enough to light the cartridge. 
The look meant death. Pas de Vis stepped back ; M. 
Pleumeur stepped forward ; and thus, rapidly, silently, 
eye to eye, the cool breath of the mathematician blending 
with the hot and panting respiration of Pierre Borgnot, 
the intruder was forced back to the door of the office. 

Borgnot was as pale as M. Pleumeur. He was not 
able to retreat further ; he felt the gun touching his 
breast. He was too frightened to attempt to seize it by 
the barrel. His hand trembled. His open mouth seemed 
trying to form some word that would not come. He was, 
doubtless, begging for his life, while at the same time, 
with an instinct of self-preservation, he struck his heels 
violently against the door. 

Pornic, outside, heard the noise. He pulled back the 
part of the door against which Borgnot stood. M. Pleu- 
meur drew back just enough to allow the fellow at whom 
his gun was pointed to turn and slip away. 

Pomic’s presence also changed the scene. 

Borgnot ran rapidly down the four steps that led up 
to the door of the office, but stopped when he got off a 
little way, taking care, however, that the old sailor’s per- 
son should interpose between him and the gun. 

M. Pleumeur stood as before. 

‘‘ Begone ! ” he repeated, looking so terrible that Por- 
11 


242 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


nic, in alarm, actually stretched out his hand to protect 
Pierre Borgnot. 

“ My tools ! ” whined the defeated rascal, in a piteous 
tone. 

“ Come in and get his tools, Pornic.” 

Pornic obeyed ; went back into the office, picked up 
the bundle laid on the floor by Pas de Vis, and carried it 
out to him. M. Pleumeur continued to cover him. 

The man did not wait to have the order to begone re- 
peated. It was sufficiently emphasized by the gun. He 
picked up his tools, and decided not to offend further by 
mentioning the name of Denis Rambert in his adieu — that 
name that he had so foolishly thought would be an ‘‘ open 
sesame,” but which might yet be useful for purposes of 
revenge. Rendered, however, prudent by the sparks that 
the bright sunshine before the office-door seemed to flash 
from the gun-barrel, he turned his back abruptly upon M. 
Pleumeur, and hastened toward the great entrance to the 
factory. 

Pornic thought it of no use to escort him further ; but 
he watched him steadily till he was out of the great gates 
into the street. 

During these few moments, M. Pleumeur, as calm and 
steady as before, went back into his office ; but, as he 
stood hidden behind one side of the half-open door, he 
wiped his forehead quickly, to get rid of a slight moisture 
that he felt there, but that nobody else would have per- 
ceived. 

Pornic hastened to rejoin him, and to question him 
about the man who had just left him. 

“ He is a format — a former convict,” replied M. Pleu- 
meur. 

“ What ! Did he dare own it to you ? ” 


LE FAS BE VIS. 


243 

“ At first he tried to move my feelings ; then he tried 
to frighten me.” 

“ I wish I had stopped with you.” 

“ Thank you for your kind intentions, Pornic, but I 
had my gun.” 

Pornic looked at the weapon that M. Pleumeur still 
held in his hand. 

“ I did not know,” said he, with great surprise, “ that 
you owned a gun.” 

‘‘ I have never hidden it.” 

“ It seems queer to me to see you with a gun. I thought 
you never handled anything hut rulers and compasses ? ” 

“ My gun is almost as accurate an instrument.” 

“ Can you use it equally well ? ” 

‘‘ I am a very good shot.” 

Pornic still stood looking at the gun. Unconsciously 
it recalled a dreadful scene. He heard a report, he saw a 
body fall, and recognized Captain Kernuz in the dust of 
the highway. 

M. Pleumeur noticed his look, and dared not lay aside 
his weapon. He was restrained by Pornic’s eyes. 

In a few minutes the old sailor shook off his reverie, 
sighed, and said : 

“ Really, now, would you have killed him ? ” 

“ Why not ? He was quite prepared to kill me, and 
then rob me.” 

‘‘Well, in that case you were right.” 

But Pornic was uneasy, and could not tell why. Un- 
formed ideas kept buzzing through his mind. The notion 
that 2i format had presented himself, asking to be employed 
in their factory, that he had threatened M. Pleumeur, and 
that M. Pleumeur had been obliged to aim a gun at him, 
made him very indignant and uneasy. 


244 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


“It was all my., fault, M. Pleumeur,” lie said, hitting 
himself a great thump on his chest ; “ I ought not to have 
let the rascal in. I ought to have known what kind of a 
fellow he was by his looks. How came he to tell you his 
name ? ” 

“ Who knows if he told me his right name ? He put on 
that confidential air the better to excite my curiosity, and 
to get a chance to be left alone with me.” 

“ Suppose I go and inform the police about him ? ” said 
Pornic. 

“ Ho ; I don’t think he will venture here again.” 

“ He might go somewhere «lse.” 

“ It is not probable. He has had a good lesson. He 
thinks, no doubt, the gendarmes will be after him. He is 
a good way off, depend upon it, by this time. Anyhow, 
soyez tranquille. I am going, by-and-by, right past the 
office of the commissaire of police ; I will go in and tell 
him about it.” 

“ That will do ; and, M. Pleumeur, I shall keep good 
watch, I promise you.” 

“ I know you will, Pomic.” 

Pornic was quite flattered by the compliment. He 
walked out of the office. M. Pleumeur watched him. 
Three times the sailor paused, and shook his head, as if 
thinking over the adventure, as he went on in the direc- 
tion of the dwelling. M. Pleumeur, satisfied on perceiv- 
ing that Pomic was going to rely on him to see the police 
authorities, closed his door as he saw him enter the man- 
sion, and came back to his table. 

He still held the gun in his hand. Before putting it 
in its place, he lifted it up, looked steadily at it, then put 
the butt-end on the ground, and, with a strange smile, 
stooped over the mouth of the barrel, almost touching it 


LE PAS DE VIS. 


245 


with his forehead. He stood for some moments in this 
singular position, as if debating with \iimself whether he 
should or should not blow out his brains. A bitter smile 
announced the triumph of his strong will and his better 
reason. 

He put the loaded weapon in its place, pushed back 
into the spot where it always stood the table Pierre Borg- 
not had displaced, sat down, and, taking up a pen, quickly 
went on with some calculations he had begun to make that 
morning. 

If his pen sometimes paused over his figures ; if his 
look, in spite of himself, sometimes wandered round his 
ofiSce, it would have been hard to say if in these moments 
of inattention M. Pleumeur were thinking of the scene in 
the garden with the baby, or that of which Pas de Vis 
had been the hero. 

In the course of the morning Poniic saw M. Pleumeur 
go out, and never doubted he had gone to lay his informa- 
tion before the commissaire of police. His having done 
so did not, however, prevent the old sailor’s telling George 
Gosselin what had happened. 

That evening, when the family was at dinner, George, 
in his turn, told it to his wife, his mother, and M. Mauroy. 

At her son’s first words, Madame Gosselin was seized 
with a fit of trembling that she could not conceal. Berthe 
noticed it. 

“ Does it frighten you so much ? ” she said, smiling at 
her mother-in-law. 

‘‘ It does a little,” replied the widow. 

It is not the first time that old formats have tried to 
get work in our yards,” said M. Mauroy ; “ and I may 
own that once or twice I have employed them. I never 
had any occasion to complain of them.” 


246 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


“I dare say not,” said George. ‘‘But this time the 
fellow seems to have used a tone of insolence which was 
unbearable. Suppose M. Pleumeur had not had his 
gun ! ” 

“ What ! M. Pleumeur — a philosopher — with a gun ? ” 
cried Berthe, as much surprised by the gun as Pornic had 
been. 

“ Yes. When he lived alone, in that lonely little house, 
he kept one for his own defense ; here, in the factory, he 
keeps it for ours.” 

Madame Gosselin had got over her trembling fit. She 
was listening with half-closed eyes to their talk. George 
resolved to make her smile. 

“I expect, mother,” said he, laughing, “that you 
will take up another grudge against my old master, now 
that you have found out he has a gun to fire at people 
with.” 

“ Oh, but he never fires at people ! ” stammered the 
widow, trying to speak gayly. 

“ I wouldn’t trust him ! ” said George, with a laugh. 

“ Do you really think,” asked Berthe, “ he would have 
killed that/brpa^.^” 

“ Without hesitation.” 

“Then I am thankful the format took to his heels. 
May Heaven preserve us from a murder in this house ! ” 

“Yes, indeed !” said George, suddenly becoming very 
grave. “ It is enough to have one murder unavenged in 
the family.” 

The conversation here ended, and deep silence fell upon 
them all. The remembrance of Captain Kemuz, and a 
mental picture of M. Pleumeur, stem even to harshness, 
with his gun in his hand, rose up before each guest ; 
though the two pictures appeared to have little associa- 


2HE BURGLARY. 


247 


tion. Still, they passed like two dark shadows before the 
minds of all. 

The baby, with his magic laughter, was brought in at 
last, and then the quiet gladness, that had been frightened 
away for a moment, returned again to this happy home. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE BURGLARY. 

PoRNic retained a sort of feverish impression, for 
which he could not account, after this episode of the 
galley-slave. He was just in the state that people are 
when they say, “ I don’t know what’s the matter with me.” 
Xot that Pornic was by habit nor by disposition the kind 
of man to occupy himself much with fancies. He waited 
till he saw something definite before he worried himself 
about anything. He was ready to sympathize and ready 
to hate ; he was by no means constant in either case ; and 
he was very slow to analyze his impressions. 

. He became considerably colder toward M. Pleumeur ; 
if, indeed, his respect for so great a mathematician, and 
his esteem for one who constituted himself champion and 
defender of all George’s interests, could be said to have 
had any warmth of feeling in it before. But he could 
not have explained why his admiration had turned into 
mistrust, and his respect into disapproval. 

He really thought it very wrong of M. Pleumeur to 
have consented to a private interview with the criminal ; 
and he was also dissatisfied with him for threatening the 
life of the rascal at all. 


248 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


He had a confused perception that such proceedings 
were in strong contrast to the habitual reserve and dignity 
of M. Pleumeur, and twenty times he was tempted to ask 
him : 

‘‘ Did you really ever know Pierre Borgnot ? ” 

Once he did ask the question, and M. Pleumeur an- 
swered it ; but the answer was inconclusive, and left him 
as doubtful as before. The subsequent nineteen times, 
when he had the question almost on his lips, its utterance 
was cut short by a magisterial look in M. Pleumeur’s eyes, 
or by some sudden order in his haughtiest tone ; for M. 
Pleumeur, since the ap2)arent check his dignity had re- 
ceived from a private interview with a format, had re- 
ascended higher than ever into those polar regions of de- 
meanor where familiarity perishes with the cold. 

One other person had been affected by this shock, and 
that was Madame Gosselin. 

On the night after the event she was delirious and in 
a high fever. She called for help ; she thought she heard 
a gun fired. She recovered her senses, but she was still 
feverish. When the family wanted to sit up with her she 
decidedly refused, shut herself into her own room more 
closely than ever, and looked very pale when she came 
down to take her meals with the family. 

Berthe was astonished, grieved, and frightened by her 
illness. Several times late at night she listened at the 
door of Madame Gosselin’s chamber, and became certain 
that she was not asleep, but walking for hours restlessly 
about her room. 

Berthe confided her anxieties to her husband. George 
questioned his mother, recommended her to take a jour- 
ney, or to try some kind of change ; but the widow showed 
great alarm at these suggestions, and, instead of gratefully 


THE BURGLARY. 


249 


receiving them as proofs of solicitude and marks of filial 
feeling, seemed to look upon them as a menace of some 
kind. 

“ Why do you all want to send me away ? Do you 
feel me de trop here ? What is going on ? ” 

To calm these unreasonable apprehensions and distract 
her thoughts, they tried to get her to take frequent care of 
her grandson, and wanted to leave him for hours in her 
company. But she did not like to have him, and turned 
from him with a sort of dread, as if in baby’s bright blue 
eyes she felt the first vague intimation of some future 
discovery. 

The only thing suggested that she did not refuse, was 
a proposition to put double holts upon her doors. But no 
bolts of any kind could keep out dreadful visions. 

As to M. Pleumeur, he went about his every-day work 
with the same regularity, the same simplicity, and the 
same quietude. He took no further opportunity of enter- 
ing the garden, nor of seeing George’s baby. Indeed, he 
seemed to shun every occasion of doing so ; for when, as 
he crossed the paved court to his counting-house, he heard 
laughter on the other side of the inclosure of the garden, 
from George and Berthe, or from baby’s honne alone with 
the little creature, he would move away rapidly, go back 
into his office, and shut himself up there for hours. 

One night, about a week after Pierre Borgnot’s visit, 
M. Pleumeur was going his usual round through the work- 
shops, when he was rejoined by Pornic, out of breath, 
wffiom he had just parted from. Pornic informed him 
that, in passing by the book-keeper’s office, he had just 
heard most distinctly the noise of a file on iron. It was 
clear a thief must be trying to get into the room where 
the principal safe was deposited. 


250 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


“ He may get in, but be won’t get out,” said M. Pleu- 
meur. 

Advising, the old sailor to go and stand sentry at some 
distance from the counting-house, and to make no noise 
that would alarm the robber, he got his gun, and came 
back to his side immediately. 

The little wing that contained the book-keeper’s office, 
etc., was not exactly separated from the main buildings, 
but attached like an outwork to that part of the premises 
in which were the engineer’s offices. It stood very near 
the middle of the main buildings of the factory, and 
looked over a little slope leading down to the ship-yards 
and stores. 

When M. Pleumeur rejoined Pomic, they both ad- 
vanced together with great precaution toward the door. 
It was fastened, just as it had been by the clerks when 
business-hours were over. 

The robber had not got in by the door. It was evi- 
dent, however, that he was at work within, for they could 
distinctly hear the noise of a file, clear, sharp, and regular. 

“ He will lose his time,” said M. Pleumeur, “ and we 
shall lose ours. He will never get into that safe. I will 
answer for the lock.” 

“ Let us go in at once and seize him.” 

“ What’s the use, since he won’t get anything ? ” 

His unexcited look, his most extraordinary clemency, 
especially after he had taken the precaution to get his 
gun, astonished Pomic. 

“ How so ? ” he cried. ‘‘ Can you possibly intend to 
let him keep on there all night ? ” 

“ No ; the fellow knows what he is about, and will 
leave off after a while. He will have done in five minutes. 
It will be a night’s work lost on his part, that is all ; and. 


THE BURGLARY, 


251 


as there is nothing he can steal in this part of the estab- 
lishment, he will take himself off somewhere else — into the 
workshops, most likely, to steal the tools. He will get out 
by the way he got in — which, I suspect, is a little window 
that never fastened well, and opens on the roof. We will 
wait for him as he comes down, and then arrest him.” 

Pornic could offer no objection to this plan. In about 
two minutes more the noise of filing ceased, which showed 
how well M. Pleumeur had understood the situation. The 
light of the dark-lantern, which the burglar had brought 
with him to his work, and which could be seen glimmer- 
ing through the green blinds, appeared to move. A slight 
noise, like that of a carefully-closed door, showed that the 
fellow was going out of the office. 

“ He is going up-stairs,” said M. Pleumeur. ‘‘ He is 
crossing the room in which we keep the books. There, 
Pomic ! there he is — just drawing his leg out of the scut- 
tle, and coming out upon the roof ! ” 

M. Pleumeur drew back into a dark shadow made by 
a projection of the roof, and pulled Pornic after him, as- 
tonishing the old sailor by the precision with which he, 
a savant, described, detailed, and commented upon the 
smallest movements of the burglar ! 

Ma foil he mumbled through his teeth, “you seem 
to know all about it, anyhow.” 

This compliment from other lips might have seemed 
sarcastic ; from Pornic it was genuine admiration.. M. 
Pleumeur took it so. 

“ I have studied things of that sort,” he said, “ as well 
as other things.” 

By this time the burglar was fully visible. He had got 
out of the upper window. His lamp had gone out. He 
stood up a moment on the top of the roof, leaning against 


252 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


some brick-work. He appeared to be bothered by the 
extreme brilliancy of the moon, which whitened the slate 
roofing, but, after having waited a moment till a cloud 
passed over her face, he lay dovm at full length upon 
the ridge of the roof and crept along on his hands and 
knees with great precaution. 

The roof at this point stretched out in the direction of 
the dwelling-house occupied by George Gosselin and his 
family, in such a way as apparently to form a right 
angle with the roof of the house itself, though there was 
really a gap of several yards between them. 

M. Pleumeur and Pornic, invisible in the deep shadow 
in which they stood, kept pace with the progress of the 
burglar, walking directly under him ; but they had not 
yet seen his face, which was hidden by a cap with a broad 
vizor di’awn well down over his eyes. 

At the end of the roof the man stopped, satisfied that 
he had made good his retreat, though dissatisfied with 
his success as to the main object of his expedition, and, 
wanting some fresh air upon his face, he took his cap off. 
It was an act of imprudence ; the moonlight shone upon 
his features. 

“ I thought so — it is he ! ” growled M. Pleumeur. 

Pornic, too, had recognized Pierre Borgnot, alias Pas 
de Yis. 

“ This time he shall not escape us ! ” cried the old sailor, 
clinching his fists. 

“Ho,” replied M. Pleumeur, cocking his gun and rais- 
ing it to his shoulder. 

The sailor was amazed at his doing so. 

“ What are you about ? ” he cried. 

“ I gave him full warning,” replied the mathematician, 
coolly. 


THE BUBGLABY. 


253 


“ But — but he has not stolen anything ! ” 

M. Pleumeur did not deign to make reply. He fol- 
lowed the format with slow steps, slipping forward with 
precaution, like a hunter on a trail. 

Borgnot had put his cap on again. He now turned his 
head to look down over the side of the roof opposite to M. 
Pleumeur. There, probably, was the ladder by which he 
had got up. Now he was coming down. Pomic saw M. 
Pleumeur’s finger press the gun’s trigger; he was alarmed, 
and seized him quickly by the arm. He made him miss 
his aim, although the shot was fired. The gun went off, 
and the format, with a shriek, rolled down the roof on the 
opposite side. 

The sailor rushed, with an oath, round the foot of the 
building, his anger as much excited against the avenger 
as the burglar. 

M. Pleumeur, too, frowned. He was afraid he had 
been unskillful with his weapon. 

At the noise of the shot a dreadful shriek came from 
the dwelling-house. A window opened, and a ghost ap- 
peared. 

It was Madame Gosselin, white as marble, half -clad, 
and wild with terror. 

She flung up her arms. 

Denis ! Denis ! ” she cried, in a suffocating voice. 

At this shriek, at this summons, M. Pleumeur stepped 
out into the full moonlight, which spread like a sheet of 
whiteness between the factory-buildings and the dwelling- 
house of George Gosselin ; then, raising both his hands 
and the gun, with a gesture that expressed at once a com- 
mand, a threat, and an imprecation, he cried, “ Silence ! ” 
to Madame Gosselin. 

Though he spoke low, his voice was so sharp, and she 


254 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


to whom it was addressed (and who received it like a stab 
in her breast) was so accustomed to be upon the watch, 
that she heard it. She fell at once upon her knees, clasp- 
ing her hands, and crying out in a tone of eager supplica- 
tion : 

Oh, Denis ! Denis ! have pity on me ! Grdce / 
grdce !'*'* — as if she thought M. Denis Pleumeur was about 
to reload his gun and aim it at her. 

Other windows by this time were open ; while the 
barkings of the watch-dogs gave the alarm to all those 
who slept in the shops of the factory. 

George’s voice was heard asking, “ What is the mat- 
ter?” M. Pleumeur answered, “Only that the rascal 
whom I promised to shoot if he returned here, came back 
to see if I would keep my word.” 

George gave an exclamation, drew in his head, dressed 
himself hurriedly, and ran down the stairs. Hardly was 
he gone from the window to his dressing-room, than 
Berthe, wrapped in a large shawl, took his place at the 
window. 

She, too, was pale, and her eyes were burning bright. 
But her paleness showed the horror that she felt for such 
brutality. 

“ M. Pleumeur ! ” she called out in a clear voice, and 
then she stopped, not liking to accuse him of what seemed 
to her an attempt at murder. 

He understood her, however, and, with a proud smile 
and with a calm voice, said : 

“ I did but do my duty, madame.” 

“It cannot be your duty to take life.” 

“ It is my duty to watch over you, and to prevent any 
one from robbing you or killing you.” 

“ This is not the first time thieves have come prowling 


THE BUEGLAEY. 


255 


round the offices ; but never before were they the cause 
of any bloodshed.” 

“ If I had let this man escape, madame, instead of his 
blood being shed, it would have been mine. Perhaps that 
would have better suited you.” 

“ Ah ! monsieur, even when you have no weapon you 
can be cruel ! ” 

These words sprang from Berthe Gosselin’s very heart. 
For a long time she had felt like saying them, and she had 
made great efforts not to speak them aloud. 

“ You are right, madame,” replied M. Pleumeur, “it is 
easy to be cruel though unarmed. It needs but to misin- 
terpret a devotion without limits, an affection without 
reserve.” 

Berthe hung her head. The reproach alarmed more 
than it touched her. She could not bear to continue to be 
severe with him ; still less could she bear to show any in- 
dulgence toward what seemed to her a homicide. 

She leaned on the window-siU, and asked, with hesitation : 

“ Is he dead ? ” 

“ I don’t think so.” 

“ Where is he ? ” 

“ Down yonder.” 

M. Pleumeur supplemented his reply by a wave of his 
hand. 

“ I will come dovui to him,” said the young wife, reso- 
lutely. 

M. Pleumeur waited till George, Berthe, and M. Mau- 
roy came into the yard. As he waited, he looked up at 
the house which held every being for whose sake his life 
was dear to him ; for each one of whom he would have 
gladly died ; for each one of whom he had planned happi- 
ness, good-fortune, cloudless days ; and he said to himself, 


256 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


that everything he did for their sakes only seemed the 
further to alienate from himself the hearts he so desired 
should love him. He did not believe in fate. He did not 
choose to believe in any controlling power higher than the 
human will. His pride as a mathematician would never 
have admitted that a punishment, meted out to him by an 
invisible Judge, was an unknown element which might up- 
set his calculations. He did not imagine himself punished. 
He only blamed himself for an unskillful shot ; and this 
idea that it was his own fault tortured him, without soft- 
ening his heart or leading him to repentance. 

One thought, like a flash, crossed his mind as he found 
himself face to face with the new problem. Suppose he 
were to run and join Pornic, so as to see, before others 
came up, the condition of this fellow from the galleys, and, 
in case he were still able to speak — to give dangerous in- 
formation — to make all sure by another shot ! 

Pornic might think and say what he liked afterward. 
The stern avenger would find some good reason for this 
coup de grdce. 

But, strange to say, he revolted from this horrible idea, 
not as a crime, but as a base expedient to retrieve an error. 
This man, who thought himself above all human prejudices, 
stood rooted to the spot on which he stood by the last look 
of Madame Berthe Gosselin. But he began to feel as if 
that gentle but intrepid woman had her tiny foot upon his 
neck ; something within him seemed to bend under her 
pressure. He was undecided between a wish to sacrifice 
himself to her who was wife of George Gosselin and 
mother of the infant over whom he had so lately shed 
tears, and a temptation, suggested by his pride, to strug- 
gle against a will that had crossed his own, and carry off 
the victory. 


MYSTERY, 


257 


George and liis wife came out of the house together. 
They held each other’s hands in a sort of childlike way, as 
if to show that they were one together. M. Mauroy fol- 
lowed them, a good deal annoyed. Servants of all kinds, 
wakened suddenly from sleep, and pulling on their clothes 
as they appeared, came after them. 

“ How did it all happen ? ” asked George. 

M. Pleumeur told in a few words how Pomic had heard 
a noise and came to warn him, and described the flight of 
the format, and the fear he felt of losing him. 

“ You ought to have loosed the dogs ; that would have 
been enough,” said M. Mauroy. 

“ I own I never thought of that,” replied M. Pleumeur. 

Berthe said nothing, but she gently drew her husband 
toward the spot where the wounded man, or his corpse, 
must have fallen. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

MTSTERY. 

A GREAT surprise awaited George, M. Pleumeur, M. 
Mauroy, and all the train that followed them. 

When they reached the place where Pierre Borgnot 
must have fallen, they found no one. Neither he nor Por- 
nic were there. A ladder standing against the wall con- 
flrmed the views of M. Pleumeur, and showed the means 
taken by the format to get upon the roof and make his way 
into the office. 

As to the manner he got down, there was, as we have 
seen, no cause for doubt. But in what condition was he 


258 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


when he had rolled off the roof ? — and what had become 
of him ? 

“He has run off, and Pornic after him,” said George 
Gosselin. 

“ That’s evident ! ” added M. Mauroy. 

“ Quick ! — ^run, all of you ! ” cried George, turning to 
the servants and the laborers who had followed him. 

They all ran off in every direction. 

M. Pleumeur had been the most surprised of all, but he 
looked the calmest of the party. He said nothing, but 
stooped and examined the ground. It was sandy. His 
eager eyes went over it very carefully, while his nostrils, 
in the uncertain moonlight, seemed to quiver, as if sniff- 
ing for the scent of blood. 

Berthe was relieved of a great burden. There was 
neither corpse nor wounded man before her eyes. M. 
Pleumeur had been a less perfect marksman than he 
thought himself, and his blessed lack of skill had lifted a 
great weight from the heart of the young matron. She 
smiled with a sigh of relief, and, leaning on her husband’s 
arm, drew him away. What was the use of staying by that 
wall, now there was no wounded man to relieve, and no 
corpse for whose soul she might offer prayers ? 

M. Pleumeur, still bending over the ground, remarked 
her smile as he raised his head. 

It was like a drop of melted lead poured on an open 
wound ; but he did not shudder. He would not be unkind, 
nor even sarcastic, toward this torturer — this executioner — 
whom he would so gladly have adored with all a father’s 
love ; and he softened the reproach with which he was 
first going to address her. 

“See, madame,” he said, “there has been no bloodshed; 
my gun has made much noise, and done but little damage.” 


MYSTERY, 


259 


“No matter ; I was dreadfully frightened ! ” 

“ Are you still displeased with me ? ” 

Too truthful to say “ No,” Berthe made believe not to 
hear him. She only exclaimed, in her turn : 

“ It is very odd that Pomic, if he could not catch the 
thief, did not call somebody to help him.” 

“Pomic, like myself, madame, is a friend who likes to 
act alone, and to call upon no one else for advice or 
assistance.” 

“But,” said Berthe, “if the robber was not wounded, 
he must have been terribly bruised and stunned.” 

“ Oh ! if he was not wounded, he had plenty of time 
to get upon his feet and be off.” 

“ Really and truly, monsieur, do you think he was not 
wounded ? ” 

“Really and truly, madame, I can offer no explana- 
tion of what may have happened.” 

George and his father-in-law, while these words were 
passing, listened, but did not understand. All through 
the workshops and the ship-yards were now heard noises, 
voices, shouts, dogs barking, and men running. It was 
the whole band of the pursuers coming back, without 
having found anything. 

“I am very much afraid something may have hap- 
pened to Pornic,” said George, anxiously. 

“ Never fear for A^m,” said M. Pleumeur, in his deep- 
est voice. 

“ Monsieur is right,” said M. Mauroy ; “ either Pomic 
is still keeping up his search upon the wharves, where he 
is sure to find somebody to assist him, or he has got the 
robber safe somewhere, wounded or not wounded. Any- 
how, children, I vote we go home, and go to sleep again.” 

M. Mauroy, after this brief address, gave a great yawn. 


260 


MADAME G08SELIN. 


which seemed to disperse all his uncomfortable thoughts, 
and walked back, with George and Berthe, toward the 
dwelling-house. 

M. Pleumeur walked behind them, looking on the 
ground, dragging his gun after him (it felt terribly heavy), 
the blood boiling in his veins, anger coursing through his 
frame ; but frost had settled on his features. From time 
to time he lifted his pale face up to the tranquil night to 
defy it to accuse him, even as he had looked up at the 
sunshine from his threshold on the morning of the mur- 
der of Captain Kernuz. He had spoken the truth to Berthe. 
Gosselin. It was not Pornic who was in danger, but him- 
self. He was beginning to feel the first symptoms of a 
gangrene, which was thenceforward to eat its way into 
his flesh ; and he desired, with the calmness of despair, 
and an anguish of which he repressed every outward sign, 
to recover himself, and make some stand against this tor- 
ture, which he had brought upon himself. 

There was the sting : he blamed himself for his un- 
skillful shot. All his coolness, reason, logic, could no 
longer free him from the net which, from the moment 
that he missed his aim, was beginning to entangle him. 
Had he been mistaken about Pornic ? What could he be 
doing? Could he be hiding a corpse ? 'No ; M. Pleumeur 
was quite certain that when the gun went off the muscles 
of his ann had been relaxed, and that his ball could not 
have reached the place he aimed at with force enough to 
kill the burglar. But he was almost certain that the man 
was wounded. Badly ? If so, all might not yet be lost. 
Slightly ? All was in danger — all might be lost forever. 

WFen they reached the front door, they found Ma- 
dame Gosselin standing on the threshold.- She had man- 
aged to get down-stairs, but had not had strength to 


MYSTERY. 


261 


venture further. She questioned her son and daughter- 
in-law in a murmur too low for them to hear her words, 
hardly being able to restrain her anxiety. 

“ It is all right, mother,” said George Gosselin ; there 
is probably no great harm done. The fellow was not 
killed ; we are not even sure that he was wounded. He 
has disappeared.” 

These reassuring words only increased the agitation of 
Madame Gosselin. 

“ Disappeared ? What ! is he not dead ? Then he 
may come back again ! ” 

“We hope Pomic will bring him back.” 

“ Bring him back here ? No, no ! Don’t let him — 
don’t let him ! ” 

Madame Gosselin showed more agitation than her 
children had ever seen in her. Berthe especially was 
amazed at her sudden emotion, and stood looking at her 
with surprise. As she looked, she saw the horror in her 
mother-in-law’s eyes gradually calming down, like a fire 
played on by a stream of water, and she turned round to 
discover whence the magnetic influence came. 

She detected — or she fancied she detected — between 
M. . Pleumeur and her mother-in-law an electric glance, 
which meant either an earnest entreaty or a command. 
That was all. 

The widow, leaning on her son’s arm, walked back into 
the house quietly and silently. M. Mauroy gave his 
daughter a kiss, and went back to bed again. 

Berthe, with strange fancies in her head, remained 
alone with M. Pleumeur. 

The young wife, without usurping any of the author- 
ity which she delighted to see exercised by her husband 
in the general administration and superintendence of the 


262 


MADAME G0S8ELIN. 


factory, had nevertheless kept up, ever since her mar- 
riage, often in company with M. Pleumeur, her old custom, 
when she was a girl, of seeing things all safe at night 
about the great establishment. And now she seemed not 
to intend to go hack to bed till after the return of Pornic. 

“ What a lovely night ! ” she said, as if by way of ex- 
cuse for sitting up. “Will you keep me company, M. 
Pleumeur ? ” 

Drawing her shawl closer round her, she walked a lit- 
tle distance from the house, so as not to converse directly 
under the windows, 

“ I am at your command, madame,” replied M. Pleu- 
meur. 

He set his gun against the wall ; but he felt himself as 
ill at ease with empty hands as when holding his weapon. 

Berthe perceived his embarrassment. She kept it up 
by maintaining silence a few moments. It was the only 
bit of revenge she took upon him. 

“ Do you know, M. Pleumeur,” she said, at length, as 
she walked in the bright moonshine that silvered the path 
before her, “ that your rash shot might have had fatal con- 
sequences to one person in our household — it might have 
ruined the happiness of our home ? ” 

“ i^o ; I did not know it. I meant the contrary, ma- 
dame ; and I think you must exaggerate.” 

“ Indeed, I do not exaggerate the violent effect it had 
on Madame Gosselin, which you remarked yourself.” 

“I?” 

“ Why do you deny it ? ” 

“ I don’t deny it,” replied M. Pleumeur, humbly. 

“ Madame Gosselin,” continued Berthe, “ has for some 
time past been so excitable as to alarm me. What do you 
think about it ? ” 


MYSTERY, 263 

“ Indeed, madame, I so seldom see Madame Gosselin, 
and I never speak to her.” 

“You appear, however, to have some authority over 
her.” 

“ I was her son’s tutor.” 

Berthe had no excuse for pushing this subject further. 
M. Pleumeur’s position and George’s gratitude might pos- 
sibly explain the sort of respectful, unreasoning awe the 
mother evidently felt for this man of iron. 

“ Henceforward, M. Pleumeur,” resumed Berthe, in 
her very kindest tones, “ please do not put any more rob- 
bers to flight by firing your gun. This house, which is in- 
debted to you in part for its success, and which partly 
looks to me for its tranquillity, must not have any more 
sad memories to impair its peace. Do not give my hus- 
band occasion for more remorse.” 

“ Remorse ! Why should he feel remorse ? ” 

M. Pleumeur’s voice was low and sad. 

“Captain Kernuz was shot; and every time a gun goes 
off, George remembers that Captain Kernuz is unavenged,” 
replied Berthe, sadly. 

“ Do you think George has so set his heart upon this 
vengeance ? ” 

“ Indeed he has — and indeed he ought ! ” replied the 
young wife, throwing back her head. “We should not 
deserve our blessings, we could not honorably accept the 
generous bequests of Captain Kernuz, unless we had at 
heart the wish, not exactly to revenge him, perhaps, but to 
punish his murderer.” 

It seemed to Madame Berthe Gosselin that, as M. Pleu- 
meur heard her, he slightly shook his head. 

“You do not understand that feeling, M. Pleumeur?” 

“ I think I understand you, madame ; but if I had over 


264 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


George the influence that springs from love, I should en- 
deavor to heal that not incurable wound in his heart, in- 
stead of keeping it open. I would not let him dwell upon 
past griefs. I would make him cease to remember them, 
and I would place his lovely babe before his eyes every 
time he conjured up a ghost to trouble him.” 

‘‘We are not afraid of ghosts ; we call them up when 
we are alone together, and while we grieve we smile at 
them. But George never receives any accession of for- 
tune, or enjoys any triumph of his genius, without feeling 
a thrill of inflnite, tender gratitude toward the man who 
adopted him ; and when I put his baby into his arms, he 
thinks of his own poor father who died at sea, so sadly 
and mysteriously.” 

“ His father ? ” whispered M. Pleumeur. 

“Yes. He is always grieving that he hardly recollects 
his father — never really knew him. You speak of love, 
monsieur,” said the young wife, placing her two hands on 
her breast, and lifting her eyes to heaven ; “ let me tell 
you, for you are the old friend and tutor of my husband, 
that all George’s love for his wife, and all his love for his 
child, cannot fill up the void made in his heart by having 
had no father. He is always missing what time cannot 
restore : parental tenderness. I do not oppose this feeling; 
I silently admire it ; I share it. I lost my own mother 
when I was young. I know that nothing obliterates the 
grief of orphanhood. I cannot give George back the 
parent for whom he grieves ; but I think his sorrow 
would be less if he could pay to the memory of Captain 
Kemuz that debt he owes both for his father’s sake and 
for his own.” 

“ Do you believe, madame, that George would be com- 
pletely happy if Captain Kernuz were avenged ? ” 


MYSTERY. 


265 


“At least, I think he would be more permanently 
happy.” 

M. Pleumeur looked down, and appeared lost in 
thought. 

“ I wish I knew how to make you both happy — quite 
happy — and forever,” he said at last, in a perfectly natural 
voice, without bitterness or irony ; “ hut I fear, madame, 
you are wishing for the impossible.” 

“I fear so, too,” answered Berthe, more kindly. 

They took several turns up and down before the house 
without speaking. Berthe was conscious of a true sym- 
pathy on the part of her stern, mysterious companion, 
which touched her greatly, and for which she would have 
gladly thanked him, had she not felt at the same time an 
instinctive repugnance, a secret horror, for his icy nature. 
Had he dared to take her hand, or even to hold his out to 
her, she would have screamed ; and yet she was perfectly 
sure that the cold stoic at her side would have sacrificed 
himself for her, her child, and her husband. 

M. Pleumeur, meantime, was asking himself, “Was 
this woman capable of carrying her love to such a height 
of heroism that she might become his accomplice, by so 
deceiving her husband as to put to flight forever the 
ghosts that troubled him ? ” 

He Wanted to prove her fortitude, and to see if she 
were strong enough to bear the weight of a horrible con- 
fession. He was ready to disappear forever if Berthe 
Gosselin said so. He looked at her furtively, with a quick 
beating at his heart, even as he had looked upon her babe 
in the arms of Madame Gosselin. If he had been sure 
that she would shed one tear of pity for his fate, he would 
have knelt before her. Occasionally he looked at the 
gun against the wall, which glittered in the moonlight, 
12 


266 


MADAME GOSSELIM. 


while he walked on slowly by her side, hesitating between 
the two attractions : the soft eyes of Berthe Gosselin, and 
the sharp glitter on his gun-barrel. 

After an hour had passed since the first alarm, Berthe 
became seriously anxious about Pornic, and began to fear 
that something must have happened to him. 

The usual stillness of the night was restored. In the 
counting-house and in the ship-yards nothing had been 
found. Every one who had been off upon the hunt came 
up, as he returned, to make his report to Madame Berthe 
and M. Pleumeur. By degrees all noises ceased, all lights 
were extinguished. The dogs, who had been fastened up 
again, resumed their broken slumbers. Even the moon, 
as if she, too, found it unnecessary to expend her useless 
light, slowly veiled herself behind a cloud. The night 
grew dark. 

Berthe was about to go back to her chamber, when she 
heard the noise of a key in the lock of a little side-door 
near the great entrance of the factory. 

It was Pornic, she knew, coming back from his expe- 
dition. He only, except the partners, had a key to this 
entrance into the buildings. The sailor closed the lock 
carefully and stealthily, appeared to listen before going 
further into the court-yard, and then, advancing with a 
cautious step, as if endeavoring to make as little noise as 
possible, went toward the house, where he had his own 
room in the upper story. 

Perceiving, indistinctly, two forms apparently waiting 
for him in the darkness, he stopped, and seemed about to , 
run away. 

Is that you, Pornic ? ” asked Berthe. 

‘‘Yes, madame,” replied the sailor, who then came for- 
ward more boldly. 


MYSTERY. 


267 


When he had taken a few steps, however, he perceived 
M. Pleumeur, and stopped short, waiting to be questioned. 

“ Where do you come from, Pornic ? ” asked the young 
mistress. 

“ Ma foi, I hardly know,” he replied, hesitating, as if 
he were trying to remember. 

But M. Pleumeur had no doubt he was inventing a 
falsehood. 

‘‘I thought,” he said at last, with a kind of laugh, 
“ that the rascal would have led me a chase to Brest after 
him.” 

“ Then he was not wounded ? ” 

‘‘ He wounded ! Ho, indeed — ^no more than I am ! ” 

‘‘ And yet,” said M. Pleumeur, interposing, “ I thought 
I hit him. I am certain that he gave a cry.” 

‘‘ Only a cry of astonishment.” 

“ Ho ; I am sure it was a cry of pain.” 

Pornic put both hands on his sides in a manner very 
common with sailors when they want to keep their equi- 
librium, and stooping his head the better to look at M. 
Pleumeur, and, very likely, that he might himself be bet- 
ter seen, he said : 

‘‘ You make a blunder, monsieur, as you did about 
your aim. However much you may have studied rascals 
of his sort, you are not quite up to all their dodges.” 

His double meaning was evident, and so was the threat 
that underlaid his words. But only M. Pleumeur under- 
stood him. He straightened himself up, and waited a 
more direct attack. 

Pornic, after a little pause, intending to provoke M. 
Pl^iimeur to speak out, went on : 

You took good aim — and that’s a fact ! If I had not 
given a little push to your arm, I rather suspect it would 


268 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


have been all up with the burglar. You are a first-rate 
shot, M. Pleumeur, and it is to be hoped that, the next 
time you take aim at any one, there won’t be another fool 
at your elbow to prevent your lodging your ball just in 
the very spot where you want to hit him.” 

M. Pleumeur remained quiet. This impertinence was 
like foam on the top of a wave — he waited till it rolled in 
upon him. He grew stronger as he stood silent. His face 
was bent down, but he stood with folded arms. 

“ Which way did he go ? ” asked Berthe. 

“ Oh, that’s just it ! ” said Pornic. ‘‘ I was not long 
in getting round the base of the building ; and yet the 
scoundrel had made off about three knots before I got 
there. Not finding him lying where I expected, I hunted 
all round after him : and all that while he was getting 
away. Then I caught wind of him, and set off running. 
The fellow knew which way to steer. He, too — no offense 
to you, M. Pleumeur — has sharp eyes, the villain ! I 
thought he was making for the ship-yards. Not a bit of 
it ! As I was running past the saw-yard, I saw him 
clambering up a pile of timber. He had made himself 
a first-rate bridge, with a plank that went up to the top of 
the wall. He ran up it. I ran after him, like a reefer. 
He didn’t wait for me, and I couldn’t get down as fast as 
he could. He got a good start that time, and he kept it. 
I had a full view of him, and chased him for a good half- 
hour. He was going toward Kerantrec. It looked, M. 
Pleumeur, as if he might be living in your old cottage. 
But just then the moon took leave to help the rascal ; she 
went under a cloud, and I lost sight of him. I had lost 
my breath, too, so I gave him up. I stopped and rested, 
and then I came straight home again. That’s all.” 

Pornic’s story was full of inconsistencies. Berthe felt 


MY8TEBY. 


269 


that it was ; but she had such entire confidence in this old 
friend who acted as her servant, and so clearly perceived 
his air of self-satisfaction and of concealed triumph, that 
she made no comments before M. Pleumeur. That gen- 
tleman, more mortified that he should be supposed to be 
Pomic’s dupe than alarmed by the hints thrown out all 
through this awkward story, could not refrain from 
saying : 

“ Why didn’t you cry, ‘ Stop thief ! ’ ? ” 

“ I couldn’t cry, and run too. My lungs are too weak. 
I should have lost my breath for nothing.” 

“ You must have passed the naval station ? ” 

“ Maybe I did. I didn’t take notice.” 

‘‘ Didn’t you meet anybody ? ” 

“ If I did, I hadn’t time to stop and talk.” 

“ Pornic, you are trying to humbug us ! ” 

“ Not I. I swear by the memory of my dead master. 
Captain Kemuz, that I’ve no heart for joking.” 

This sudden allusion to Captain Kernuz was another 
singular feature of the scene, and was not of a kind to 
diminish its dramatic effect. 

M. Pleumeur gravely persisted in his remarks. 

“ Joking or not joking, Pornic, you are not telling the 
truth.” 

‘‘ I say what I think proper. You may believe me, or 
not, as you please.” 

“ I don’t believe you.” 

“ I will force you to believe me, some day, M. Pleu- 
meur.” 

“ When?” 

“ When I choose.” 

«« Try now, then.” 

“ Not at present.” Then, turning his back suddenly 


270 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


on M. Pleumeur, Pomic continued, addressing Madame 
Berthe : 

“ Madame, you can go back to bed and spend the night 
in peace. There will be no format to fear — no shot to be 
fired.” 

Then facing about, the sailor said, with a chuckle : 

“ Good-night, M. Pleumeur.” 

Pornic had indulged in a familiarity which was very 
unusual with him, and this behavior showed either ex- 
treme emotion, or a sense of importance in the mysterious 
part he was about to play. 

He walked toward the house. Berthe turned in the 
same direction. M. Pleumeur, whose sleeping-room was 
over his office, had no excuse for following them into the 
mansion. He did nothing to detain them, or to prolong 
the conversation, neither had he done anything to stop it. 
He only went up to the place where he had put his gun 
against the wall, bowed to young Madame Gosselin, whose 
silence appeared as dangerous to him as Pornic’s talka- 
tiveness, and walked with a steady step toward his own 
counting-house. 

Berthe returned M. Pleumeur’s bow, but did not speak ; 
then she went into the hall of her own dwelling. A light 
was burning on the hall-table ; she took it up, and, full of 
strange thoughts, was about to go up-stairs and retire to 
her own chamber, when on the lowest step she turned, and 
gave a last look at Pornic, who was closing the hall-door. 

The door fastened and the bolt secured, the sailor 
turned round, and looked at his young mistress. 

A broad, uncomfortable smile spread over his honest 
features. If it were a smile of triumph, it was not a smile 
of joy. Yet there was something in his face which almost 
seemed to shine out in the surrounding darkness. 


MY8TERY. 


271 


Berthe thought this sudden light meant that he had 
seized a new idea. 

“ Pornic, what strange thing have you just learned ? ” 
she said to him. 

I think I have seen, and laid hands upon, the murderer 
of Captain Kernuz,” replied the sailor, solemnly. ‘‘ That’s 
all.” 

“ What ! — that format f ” 

‘‘A for^aty sure enough. No fellow who had not 
served his apprenticeship at the galleys would have 
struck do^vn such a man.” 

Berthe came l3ack from the one step of the stairs on 
which she stood, and went up eagerly to Pornic : 

Ai*e you quite sure ? ” said she, in a low voice. 

“ Quite sure ; but as yet I have no proofs.” 

“ Of course not, since the man escaped.” 

‘‘ Suppose I’ve got him ? ” 

“ Where ? ” 

“ That, madame, is my secret. You must excuse me.” 

‘‘ You ought to have him arrested.” 

“What ! — ^by the law? No, thank you. I know the 
law. What has it done these two years ? All it would 
do would be to drag things along slowly, and, in the end, 
let off the guilty.” 

“ Then there was more than one ? ” 

“ Nobody commits a great crime like that without an 
accomplice.” 

“ But how did you come upon the discovery ? Tell me 
quickly all you know, Pornic.” 

Berthe’s face was eager. Her anxious conviction that 
at last the duty she had long feared and expected was be- 
fore her, made her eyes bright. She looked very beauti- 
ful. But Pornic paid no attention to her beauty ; all he 
saw was her emotion. He became very grave. 


272 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


“ Excuse me, madame, if I tell you nothing more — to- 
night.” 

“ You are wrong, Pomic. Perhaps I could give you 
good advice.” 

The young wife raised her head with proud displeasure; 
then she added, half threateningly and half in a tone that 
was more kindly : 

“ George could make you tell him.” 

“ He would not — nor can you,” replied Poraic. “ I will 
not say one word till I am ready. Do not make me regret 
having trusted you so far. You don’t mistrust me, do 
you ? I swear by my dead master’s soul, that, if I get em- 
barrassed in any way, I will come to you to help me. Don’t 
be afraid ; there will be plenty of work for you to do soon 
enough — when mine is over. But don’t question me — 
don’t interfere with me. Don’t look at me as you look at 
the dear baby when he wants what you are going to refuse 
him; because I might yield, and that might be a great blun- 
der. For baby’s sake, and for your husband’s sake, I beg 
you, madame, leave me free to act. I wanted to gain one 
more day for prayer, and thought I might succeed by 
speaking just one word to you about my hopes ; but I 
swear I will go no further.” 

As Berthe listened, trying to imagine the reason of this 
singular reserve, she grew very pale. She was both touched 
and frightened by the strong emotion of the old sailor. 

“Well, then,” she said, still trying to look into the 
depths of Pornic’s eyes, “I will obey you.” 

“ Obey me ! You obey me, my dear lady ! Don’t think 
of saying suoh a word. I’d rather have you say you com- 
mand me not to go on with this affair, or not to grieve you 
by any knowledge of it till I have all my proofs.” 

“ How long shall I have to wait, Pornic ? ” 


MYSTERY. 


273 


“ Some days — or, perhaps, some weeks.” 

“ That will he a long time.” 

“Yet you may think, some day, it was short enough.” 

There was dire pity, and a dark suggestion of evil, in 
these words. 

Berthe trembled. 

“ Pomic,” she resumed, with a ring in her voice, though 
she spoke in a whisper, “ I trust you. But if you are hid- 
ing anything from me because you fear I have not cour- 
age to bear it, you are wrong, my friend. For the happi- 
ness of George, and for the honor of our house, I can bear 
anything.” 

“ Oh, dear lady, you are a saint ! ” replied the sailor, 
almost going on one knee. 

“I am nothing but a woman who dearly loves her 
husband.” 

“ If all women were only like you ! ” 

“What of it?” 

Pornic was troubled at having made the exclamation, 
and, not knowing what to answer, scratched his head, and 
ended by saying, with a deceptive laugh : 

“Well, I should have been married long ago.” 

Berthe smiled, and turned toward the staircase. She 
made one last attempt, however, to move him : 

“ Why do you hide all this from M. Pleumeur ? He is 
a very discreet and sensible man.” 

“He!” 

“ WTiat’s more, he is as true a friend to us as yourself.” 

Pomic sprang up from the floor, and almost roared 
aloud ; then something calmed him suddenly. 

“ True,” he said, “ he was always M. George’s great 
friend. But he did no good to the cause 'of justice on the 
day of the murder. These learned men know how to tan- 


274 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


gle things when they want to, and you saw yourself this 
very night how he failed to kill his man.” 

“ Oh, Pornic ! don’t reproach him for a bad shot, for 
which I am so thankful.” 

“You may be thankful to me, then.” 

“ It may be supposed,” added Berthe, “ that M. Pleu- 
meur had a presentiment.” 

“ A presentiment ? ” 

“Well, the eagerness he showed to bring down this 
format looks as if he had had some presentiment he was a 
murderer.” 

“Yes — I see.” 

“ Captain Kernuz’s murderer.” 

“ No, no, madame ! I’m very sure that M. Pleumeur 
does not think my rascal was the murderer of Captain 
Kernuz.” 

“ I trust you may succeed, my good Pomic.” 

“ I shall succeed, madame. But promise you will never 
be angry with me whatever comes of it.” 

“ Why should I be angry with you for fulfilling a plain 
duty?” 

“There are painful duties sometimes.” 

“Since you, for our good, Pomic, will bear aU the 
weight of the burden of this inquiry, I promise to be 
grateful to you whatever happens.” 

Pornic made no reply. Berthe gave him a kindly nod, 
and went up to the bedroom story. The sailor, standing 
below-stairs, waited until the light of her candle paled 
above his head ; then he went up slowly in his turn in the 
dark, enjoying indeed the obscurity, and glad to be able 
to reflect in darkness over the great project he had under- 
taken. 

He was not afraid of failing — ^his fear was lest he should 


THE EVE OF JUDGMENT 


275 


succeed too well. His vengeance, although just, frightened 
him when he thought of those under the same roof with 
him. He would rather have been laying his plans in the 
old villa at Kerantrec, where old remembrances and old 
prejudices would have been more protection from the 
weakness produced by his sympathy for George and Ber- 
the Gosselin. 


CHAPTER XXH. 

THE EVE OF JUDGMENT. 

George Gosselin was surprised ; but he appeared not 
sorry to hear that the robber had not been wounded by M. 
Pleumeur, and had made his escape. After a few hours of 
annoyance he joked, with his habitual good-humor, his old 
tutor and Pornic, about their blundering ; gave orders for 
more watch-dogs ; said they were to be let loose at night 
upon the premises ; and went gayly about his work, think- 
ing no more of the matter. 

Berthe, on her part, displayed nothing of the anxiety 
she felt concerning the events of the night, especially her 
conversation with Pornic at the foot of the stairs. 

On the contrary, from that day forward, there was a 
look of quiet determination in her face, which never left 
her. Without speaking one word to her husband, without 
warning him, even indirectly, that a trial of some kind 
was hanging over him, she gave him strength to meet it 
by inspiring him with fresh courage, by appealing more 
than ever to his love. 

Xever had she been more tender, cheerful, and womanly 
than while making ready for this coming struggle. If she 


276 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


could have practised the fascination of a coquette, she 
would have done so. But her power over her husband was 
too supreme to need a special effort. She did not shrink 
from any peril, though she knew not how great the blow 
would he, nor what its nature. But she foresaw something 
very terrible. She felt that a mist of tragedy was slowly 
rising round her happy life, and she roused up all her 
courage. Every time she kissed her husband’s brow she 
kindled a new light on his forehead ; she encouraged him 
to surpass himself in courage ; she wanted to make him 
invincible by strengthening his will. 

M. Pleumeur on the morning after the eventful night 
appeared as calm, as pale, as stern, and as silent as he had 
been before. He did not shun Pomic, who kept out of 
his way, however, but he managed so as never to be left 
alone with him. Remaining more than ever in his count- 
ing-house, and almost genial in his interviews with George, 
he seemed to have forgotten his fierce anger against the 
format, his own unlucky shot, and the challenge flung at 
him by Pornic. 

Madame Gosselin, too, got over the moral and physical 
shock caused by the noise of the gun, though she recovered 
slowly. Next morning she made a formal apology to her 
daughter-in-law for the fear she had been betrayed into. 

Saying that she did not feel well, she staid more than 
ever in her chamber, and seemed doubly engaged with 
her beads. She would not walk in the garden. She did 
not care to nurse the child. She barely smiled at him, 
without apparent interest, and would but just touch his 
cheek with her lips, and give him back again to the nurse 
or mother. 

Pomic was entirely changed. From a bear he had 
turned into a watch-dog of the Pyrenees; he had put on a 


THE EVE OF JUDGMENT. 


277 


sort of breathless activity, which every now and then sud- 
denly paused. He went out a good deal, managed so as 
not to be followed, and spoke to no soul except to himself. 
But he held long talks with himself — long, painful talks — 
which brought the sweat out on his brow, which sharpened 
his intelligence, which developed his powers of reflection, 
and when they ended, left him exhausted with the mental 
strain — but highly satisfied. 

Things went on thus for six days, no perceptible 
change taking place in the lives of our various personages. 

Early on the seventh morning a ring was heard at the 
principal entrance gate, and a sailor (evidently just come 
ashore) asked to speak to M. George Gosselin. 

Pornic, who was always on the alert, recognized the 
man at once, ran out to meet him, greeted him heartily, 
and, before taking him in to see George, thought it neces- 
sary to have a whole hour’s private conversation with him. 

It was the same sailor who had before brought the 
news of Captain Gosselin’s death, and who, remembering 
the cordial invitation of Captain Kernuz to his house, had 
come to take advantage of it. 

He had learned with amazement the tragedy that had 
succeeded his visit, a tragedy to which his embassy had been 
the prologue. He insisted on going with Pomic to visit 
the tomb of Captain Kernuz, and when he came back he 
was taken in to George. 

The sight of him awakened in George Gosselin’s heart 
all the griefs and sorrows that he usually concealed. No- 
body suggested this man’s arrest. The magistrates, after 
the first examination of the case, had been satisfied of his 
innocence. He might be useful as a witness, but was cer- 
tainly not a party to the guilt. 

George indulged himself in the painful satisfaction of 


278 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


cross-questioning him. This man alone could give him 
a glimpse into the unknown life of his dead father — that 
life which had been spent apart from himself and ended 
so far away from wife, and child, and home. 

“ Do you know,” he asked the sailor, ‘‘ if my father had 
any enemies he feared, and whom he may have mentioned 
to Captain Kernuz ? ” 

“Yes, sir ; he had some hitter enemies.” 

“ Do you know who they were ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Did he never name them in your presence ? ” 

“Never.” 

“ He must have spoken of them, or you would not have 
knowm of their existence.” 

“ When he spoke of them, he never said anything by 
which I could tell whom he meant, and he always added, 

‘ Kernuz will look after them.’ ” 

“ And why was Captain Kernuz to avenge him ? ” ex- 
claimed George. “Why did he not call on two of us in- 
stead of one ? If I had knowm his secret — unless I had 
been killed like his poor friend — I might have carried out 
the charge which Captain Kernuz failed to execute.” 

“ Captain Kernuz would, no doubt, have told you all 
about it the day after I left, sir,” said the sailor, “ for I 
believe there were letters in the packet for you.” 

George made the man give him all possible details of 
the last three weeks of his father’s life. The sailor drew^ 
the picture of his father’s mental misery, a misery such as 
George had never dreamed of ; and the sad story, though 
it gave him no suspicion of the truth, served to prepare 
his heart for the coming wound. 

Berthe listened in silence to this conversation. She had 
no more specific ground to found conjectures on than her 


THE EVE OF JUDGMENT. 


279 


husband, but she was under the shadow of a presentiment, 
and, if she had not been afraid of breaking her pledged 
word, she would have asked if Captain Gosselin had ever 
spoken of some enemy who had been sent to the galleys. 

When they were convinced that the sailor could tell 
them nothing more upon the subject, they sadly let him 
leave George Gosselin’s study ; but it was settled he should 
stay at the works, and help Pornic. He helped him in- 
deed, and that speedily. 

“ Is he the witness you were waiting for ? ” asked Ber- 
the of the old sailor. 

“ Maybe he is.” 

“Well, then, don’t despair.” 

“Ho, indeed I don’t, madame. I now see my way 
clearer than ever.” 

After this Pornic went off somewhere three days. He 
had no need to ask anybody’s leave to take a holiday. His 
duties, thanks to the annuity left him by Captain Kernuz, 
were purely voluntary. Still, however, he mentioned his 
wish to George Gosselin, who, taking this mark of defer- 
ence just as it was meant, did not like to intrude upon his 
confidence by asking whither he was going. 

When Pornic came back, after a three days’ absence, 
he felt like shading his face that no one might see the 
triumph there. Whence came the light that now beamed 
from eyes and mouth and brow, and over all his hard-set 
features ? 

The only person who paid much attention to the ab- 
sence of Pornic was Berthe ; and she did not speak of it. 
As to M. Pleumeur, he showed no signs of even having 
found out that Pornic was absent at all. 

The day after his return the old sailor laid his plans so 
as to find himself alone with young Madame Gosselin in 


280 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


the garden. He had been watching her all the morning, 
and knew he should find her alone. 

It was after mid-day. The baby was asleep in the 
house, and George was at the works in his counting-house. 

Berthe, who always had something to do, even in her 
most restful moments, was working on a little garment 
for her son, under the shade of the same trees where, a lit- 
tle while ago, we saw the elder Madame Gosselin holding 
up her little grandson to be worshiped by M. Pleumeur. 

Berthe was sewing slowly, stopping from time to time 
to spread out on her lap the pinafore she was making, and 
which she had cut out herself. This examination was 
only, however, a relief to her own thoughts. Instead of 
looking to see if she had cut her material out evenly, or 
to examine her sewing, she was thinking of something else 
as she spread out her work, and seemed to be trying to 
read something written on the white cambric in invisible 
characters. 

Pornic had no fears that any one would disturb their 
interview ; yet he came up to the bench where she was 
sitting, with as little noise as possible, and Berthe’s first 
notice of his presence was the dark shadow which fell upon 
her. 

“ Is that you, Pomic ? ” she said, raising her head, with 
a slight trembling at the comers of her mouth. “ I was 
just thinking of you.” 

“ You are displeased with me — are you not, madame ? ” 

‘‘ Ho, mon amV^ 

“ But I know you must have been saying to yourself, 

‘ That Pornic is a rude, rough fellow ! He did not know 
what he was about, when he came worrying me with his 
projects. He might have done all that was wanted him- 
self, without troubling me on the subject.’ ” 


TEE EVE OF JUDGMENT. 


281 


“ No, I was not thinking so at all. You know you told 
me I might be useful to you.” 

“But now I find that you will not be so necessary to 
me as I expected.” 

“ And yet you told me — ” 

“ Yes ; I dared not trust myself at first. I never was 
accustomed to hard thinking ; it seemed to split my head 
open. I was afraid that I might get confused. I am not 
accustomed to calculate, like M. Pleumeur ; I easily lose 
the points of the compass. But a steady idea, you see, is 
like a star : a fellow watches it, steers for it, and that’s 
enough to help him. So that is just how I am.” 

“ So that you have nothing that you want to tell me 
now ? ” said Berthe, folding up her work and looking full 
at him. 

Pomic became very much embarrassed ; he grew red 
in the face, both from confusion and excitement, rolling 
his great eyes under his eyelids, which hardly seemed to 
cover them. He stood silent. 

“Then, Pomic, you mean to tell me nothing about 
where you have been lately ? ” 

“ I went to Nantes, to look up some papers.” 

Pomic gave this information rapidly and readily, as if 
he meant it to suffice, and to protect him from all further 
embarrassing inquiries. 

“Was it only to say that you do not mean to tell 
me anything, that you came here to find me ? ” pursued 
Berthe. “ Come, my good Pomic, do you want me to en- 
courage you? Speak out, and do not fear the conse- 
quences.” 

Pomic passed his hand twice over his forehead, and 
shook it, after doing so, as if he had brushed away a 
great amount of moisture, or had tom off a bandage tied 
across his brow. 


282 


MADAME G08SELIK 


‘‘Madame,” he said, suddenly, “the moment has 
come ! ” 

“ I am ready, Pornic, if you are.” 

“ I am ready, madame. And yet — I want you to un- 
derstand that I had better act alone.” 

“Why?” 

“ The whole thing will be done more simply and more 
certainly.” 

“ Do you doubt me, Pornic ? ” 

“ Indeed, I think I could doubt the good Lord himself 
under the circumstances.” 

“ Then it is something very terrible ? ” 

Pornic nodded. Berthe grew pale. 

“Be careful, Pornic, not to mix up personal hatred 
with an act of justice. If you know the truth — the plain 
truth — go to the magistrates.” 

“ That is just what I cannot do, madame ; and that is 
what troubles me. The magistrates must have nothing 
to do with it. I want no judges but yourself and M. 
George. You are to me all that is best and truest in this 
world.” 

“ So be it, Pornic ; we will hear and judge. What 
further makes you hesitate ? ” 

“ Because I think that when you have condemned you 
will not execute ; and I would like to strike the guilty 
when his guilt is known.” 

Pornic looked fierce as he uttered these words. 

Berthe frowned ; and then she looked at him so tender- 
ly, and yet with so much determination in her tenderness, 

that it almost overcame him. 

% 

“ Ah ! madame,” he said, hitting himself a great blow 
on the chest, “ I never ought to have spoken to you about 
it. I ought to have done it all myself ; I ought to have 


THE EVE OF JUDGMENT. 


283 


taken it upon my own shoulders. I ought to have avenged 
murder by homicide ; and they might have dealt with me 
as they liked when all was done. But I don’t think they 
would have executed nie for a murderer.” 

“ That would not have been right, Pornic.” 

‘‘Suppose M. Pleumeur, that very worthy man, had 
killed Pierre Borgnot, the burglar, the other night, would 
the public have considered him guilty of a murder ? ” 

“ He would certainly have been called to account for 
homicide. There is no doubt of it.” 

“ Maybe so. But he would not have been found guilty 
of murder ; and yet what he did was much worse than 
what I was talking of doing : he wanted to kill a witness, 
I want to kill the murderer.” 

Pornic clasped his hands together with a savage gest- 
ure that made his joints crack. 

“ A witness ? Whom do you mean ? Is not the man 
that was here that night the man you suspect of the mur- 
der? ” 

“ No. On the contrary, he is the witness who will 
bring it home to somebody else.” 

“Who is it?” 

“ If I tell you who it is, you will not believe me.” 

“ Tell me, at least. Please tell me, quickly. After- 
ward we will examine your proofs.” 

Pornic hesitated. His wide mouth opened, and then 
closed again, with a cruel smile, which hardly covered his 
embarrassment. 

“You will never believe me,” he repeated. 

“Perhaps not.” 

“ Well, if you don’t, promise you won’t hinder me — 
that you won’t give him warning — that you won’t help 
him to get out of the way.” 


284 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


‘‘ Is he here ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

% 

Berthe rose up, in great terror. 

“ Here ! — in this house ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Do I know him ? ” 

“You know him, you esteem him, but you do not like 
him. M. George both esteems and loves him.” 

Berthe gave a sudden cry. 

The low tone in which these words were spoken, and 
Pornic’s furtive glance across the shrubs of the garden at 
the roof of M. Pleumeur’s counting-house, told her the 
name he dared not utter. 

After recovering from her sudden shock and bewilder- 
ment, Berthe, like one who has been stunned by a thunder- 
clap, though not struck by lightning, stood motionless. 
A moment’s reflection then sent the color back into her 
cheeks. She gave a sudden, short laugh of incredulity, 
which relieved her. 

“ You are mad, Pornic ! ” 

“ I knew you would say so, madame.” 

“ M. Pleumeur a murderer ! M. Pleumeur guilty of a 
crime ! ” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ Because it could not be ! ” 

“ Impossible, of course ; but, nevertheless, quite true.” 

“ Pornic, this is only your prejudice against M. Pleu- 
meur.” 

“ My prejudice against him was a secret warning. I 
scented the murderer. When I saw him, gun in hand, a 
light broke in upon me. I seemed to be present at the 
very scene that had taken place on the road to Kerantrec. 
He took aim just as he did then, and he took good aim. 


THE EVE OF JUDGMENT 


285 


too. As I was not there to touch his elbow on the day 
he fired at Captain Kernuz, the ball went straight to the 
place he sighted, and he chose it well ! ” 

Notwithstanding her confidence that this thing could 
not be, Berthe shivered. She, too, had been painfully 
(she had thought, absurdly) impressed by the sight of M. 
Pleumeur with his gun. 

‘‘ Is that the only reason you suspect him ? ” she asked ; 
trying, no doubt, to strengthen her mind against the doubt 
that began to creep in. 

“ That, and something more ! ” 

“ True ; you said you had a witness — that former gal- 
ley-slave. Was he the accomplice of M. Pleumeur ?” 

“No.” 

“ Did he see him fire at Captain Kernuz ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ What is it, then ? ” 

“ Pierre Borgnot knew M. Pleumeur a long time ago, 
and can bear witness as to his character.” 

“ Witness as to his character ? But George has known 
M. Pleumeur for twenty years. For twenty years M. 
Pleumeur has advised him and instructed him. You must 
allow me to believe my husband’s testimony rather than 
that of a for^aV'* 

Pornic did not answer. He was unwilling to say all he 
had to say unless he were certain of having his word 
taken on the subject. He did not like to have his reason- 
ing mistrusted ; and, without being shaken in his confi- 
dence by the resistance of Berthe, he felt impatient at 
finding her less accessible to conviction than he had ex- 
pected. 

“ Then this for^aCs testimony is all you have to go 
upon,” said Berthe, “ besides the impression made on you 


286 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


by M. Pleumeur with his gun ? These are all your proofs, 
are they not, Pornic ? ” 

Pornic kept silence. 

Indeed, Pornic, let me beg you to get rid of such 
suspicions. They can have no real foundation, and if 
George knew you had suspected such things of his old 
tutor he would never forgive you.” 

‘‘ Oh, I know well enough,” said the old sailor with a 
sigh, “ that whatever comes of it I shall never be for- 
given. But I can’t help that. I swore I would go through 
with it to the end, and I will keep my word. If you won’t 
help me I will caiTy it out alone. The affair will make 
more stir, but it will be your own fault. Vengeance will 
come down harder upon you, but it will have been your 
own doing.” 

This speech of Pornic’s astonished, disturbed, and 
alarmed his listener. She leaned her head in her hands 
and thought a moment. Then, looking up with a paler 
face than usual, she said, resolutely : 

“ I will send for M. Pleumeur ; and before him, Pornic, 
you must repeat what you have just told me. You will 
see he will find it easy to explain it all to you.” 

“ Take care what you do, madame ! That was not 
what I asked of you ! ” cried Pornic, in a threatening tone. 
“ I want to speak to him before the whole family — all — 
all together, you understand. Believe me, the secret shall 
be well kept ; but if you send for him now I shall be 
alone. You are on his side, not on mine. You will be 
two against me. That is not what I insist upon. No, no, 
not that ! ” 

And Pornic looked at Berthe with angry eyes. He 
clinched his fists and shook them. 

His young mistress was less startled by his want of re- 


TEE EVE OF JUDGMENT. 287 

spect for her than by the conviction and indignation that 
his words and acts betrayed. 

“ That you insist on, Pornic ? This is very strange 
language,” she replied, endeavoring to recover the ascend- 
ency she had lost. Are you the person to insist here, I 
should like to know ? ” 

‘‘Yes, madame. Forgive me — excuse me — but I must 
insist ! ” replied the sailor, folding his arms. “ In a gale 
of wind, when the captain is washed overboard and the 
ship is going ashore, any man may take the helm. If he 
saves the vessel he can be tried and punished afterward — 
he won’t care ; and if the ship goes down he will die with 
the rest of them. See here. I want to save you from 
that dreadful man. I’ll kill him, or I’ll die myself. I 
have my orders from my late captain. Yes, madame, in 
Captain Kernuz’s house, still haunted by his ghost, I do 
command, I do insist, and you must all obey me ! ” 

Pornic trembled all over. His eyes seemed starting 
out of his head ; his mouth twitched convulsively. It was 
enough to alarm her ; but Berthe would not allow herself 
to be alarmed on her' own account. 

“ I shall call M. Pleumeur,” she said again, looking 
Pornic full in the face. 

She made two steps forward. Pornic drew back, and 
held out his arm to stop her. 

“ Don’t, don’t, madame ! ” he cried, in a choking voice. 
“ Harm will come of it.” 

As he moved the fingers of his powerful hands, hold- 
ing forth his outstretched arms, Berthe smiled with dis- 
dain at that formidable grasp that could so easily crush 
her. 

“ Are you really threatening me, Pornic ? ” 

“ Threatening you ! What — I ? ” replied the old sailor. 


288 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


springing back. “ You never can have thought so. I 
threaten him / Him only ! I only want you to under- 
stand that nobody, not you yourself even, shall prevent me 
from doing that which I have made up my mind to do.” 

Berthe thought she might profit by Pornic’s emotion. 
She made another step forward, but the old sailor, sud- 
denly plunging his hand into his pocket, pulled out a long 
Spanish knife, which he opened by touching a spring ; 
then pointing to it with the forefinger of his other hand, 
he said, with clinched teeth : 

“ Before Denis Pleumeur can reach you I shall have 
plunged this knife into his heart. If you call the ser- 
vants or the laborers at the works to hinder me from exe- 
cuting justice on him, I shall kill myseK instead of him.” 

Berthe became very pale, and stood motionless before 
this man, who was drunk with anger, or beside himself 
in the cause of truth. She did not provoke him further ; 
she only said : 

“Would you do that, Pornic ? ” 

“ I would do just what I have told you.” 

“ Then I will save you at least from such a crime. I 
shall not summon M. Pleumeur.” 

She stepped back, intending to sit down on the bench 
from which she had risen. Pornic followed her. 

“ Thank you, madame,” he said, closing his knife and 
putting it back in his pocket. 

“If I give up to you on this one point,” said the 
brave woman, “ I do not yield on others. You must con- 
vince me first ; and that it will be hard to do.” 

“ Convince you ! ah, dear lady ! ” cried Pornic, 
charmed and subdued at once by the hope thrown out to 
him. “ I shall — I know I shall ! I know not how, but I 
shall convince you at last.” 


THE EVE OF JUDGMENT. 


289 


“ Then you have proofs ? ” 

“Written proofs ? No. Lawyer’s proofs ? No. But 
let me once stand in presence of M. Pleumeur, with you, 
and M. George, and Madame Gosselin, and Pierre Bor- 
gnot, and you’ll see if he can deny the crime ! ” 

“ He ! — acknowledge a murder ? ” cried Berthe, speak- 
ing to herself more than to Pornic. “ Never ! ” 

“ Because he cares so much for human life ? You saw 
how ready he is to fire at people.” 

“ To fire at a galley-slave.” 

“ It wasn’t a galley-slave he wanted to kill. It was a 
witness.” 

“Was Captain Kernuz, too, a witness whom he wanted 
to get rid of ? ” 

“ Yes ; after Captain Kernuz had read Captain Gosse- 
lin’s will.” 

In spite of her outward calmness, Berthe was much im- 
pressed by this answer. 

“ Do you know what was in that packet of papers ? ” 

“ No, I don’t. I only know they cost my master angry 
tears ; that, after having, read them, he threatened to be 
revenged on somebody, and I have now reason to believe 
that somebody was M. Pleumeur.” 

“Then your theory is that Captain Kernuz irritated 
and provoked M. Pleumeur, till, in an angry moment, he 
seized his gun, and aimed it at the man who threatened 
him ? ” 

“No, I don’t think that. Captain Kernuz was going 
early into the city when he was waylaid and fired at by 
his murderer.” 

“Was Captain Kernuz in the habit of going out so 
early?” 

“ No.” 

13 


290 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


“ Then you suppose the murderer had received notice 
of his unusual intention ? ” 

“ He did receive notice.” 

‘‘ Who gave it ? ” 

Pornic opened his lips to utter a name, but the increas- 
ing anxiety he saw upon Berthe’s face alanned him. He 
dreaded to say more before the necessary time. 

“ By some one who had as much reason for fear as M. 
Pleumeur,” he answered. 

Berthe asked no more questions. Her head swam. In 
spite of her own reluctance, a dreadful power seemed 
dragging her toward a suspicion rejected by her good 
sense, but supported by her instinctive feeling. She 
placed both hands over her eyes, as if she dared not look 
further into what was abhorred by her very soul. 

“ Enough, Pornic ! Hush ! ” she said, in a trembling, 
nervous voice. “ Give me time to recover myself — to re- 
flect — to know what I ought to do.” 

Pornic drew back, and, in a respectful attitude, waited 
till she spoke again. 

Berthe thought herself tried beyond her strength. Her 
feelings, which had been repressed sternly by her will, were 
getting the better of her. She felt a great temptation to 
give way to that weakness which, in women, under cover 
of defeat secures a victory. Tears came into her eyes ; 
she let the stern avenger see them. They were her last 
appeal. 

Pornic, with a violent contortion, lowered the dark 
stubble of his eyebrows over the red glare of his eyes. He 
joined his hands as if in prayer, and a sort of sob came 
from his heart, like the rumble of a thunder-clap passing 
away in the distance. 

‘‘ I feared this all along,” he said. 


THE EVE OF JUDGMENT. 


291 

Berthe did not follow up this concession. She was 
gently wiping her eyes. 

Pornic began to sway himself backward and forward 
on his legs, as if the garden had become a ship, and was 
suddenly rocking. If it were true that he had been all 
along afraid of a woman’s tears, he had certainly not pre- 
pared himself to see them flow. His rough exterior soft- 
ened under their dew ; his simple heart grew heavy in his 
breast. 

“ Don’t weep, madame,” he said, in a tone of entreaty. 

Berthe looked at him, and was more convinced by his 
evident sympathy for her grief than by all the arguments 
he had so carefully prepared beforehand. 

“ Do you think, Pornic,” she said, sadly, “ that if I 
leave you alone to cany out your plan, I shall have no 
more tears to shed ? ” 

“ I dare not promise that.” 

“ In any event you may be sure that if I consent to 
what you ask of me my grief will not prevent my helping 
you. I shall have the tears of others to wipe away. You 
were quite right to speak to me first ; now leave me a day 
to think it over. You have told me so much that I can 
see a dreadful gulf that must be crossed by my husband. 
As wife and mother, I must prepare myself to help him ; 
I want to consider how. If there were any way of per- 
mitting you to avenge your master’s death without de- 
priving God’s eternal justice of its rights, or violating the 
laws of men, I would accept it. But if for our honor’s 
sake all that is done must be done here, when I have told 
you that I consent, you will find me as strong and resolute 
as a woman can be, when she knows that the happiness 
of her life is to be rent asunder, and knows not whether 
she can ever repair it.” 


292 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


Berthe rose from the bench, almost serene again. 
Pornic nodded. 

“ I shall wait your orders, Madame George,” he said, 
as if he were speaking of some very simple thing. 

To-morrow morning I will let you know how I have 
decided,” continued Berthe. Till then, you understand 
— no violence ! ” 

“ I am no murderer,” growled Pornic ; but he was not 
angry. 

“ For my part, I promise not to let anything transpire 
of what you have told me. Think it over, Pornic, and if 
you should have any doubts — ” 

“ I do not fear ! ” 

“ Say, rather, that you do not hope.” 

Pornic made a gesture of dissatisfaction. Fie could 
not understand Berthe’s delicate and charitable wish ; it 
seemed to him only a desire that he might not accomplish 
that work of judgment of which he was so proud. He, 
however, bowed respectfully, and walked off with the air 
of a magistrate, grinding the gravel of the path under his 
tread. 

Berthe, as soon as he had left her, walked several times 
round the garden. She wanted to make up her mind. 
What she most feared was the sadness of indecision. She 
wanted to weigh in her memory all the incidents of her 
conversation with Pornic, and to have the facts clearly at 
command ; afterward she would arrange them. 

W^hat she wanted to determine in her own mind was 
not precisely the possible guilt or presumable innocence of 
M. Denis Pleumeur ; as soon as her thoughts became oc- 
cupied on that point she banished them, dreading the cold 
shades that surrounded the subject. What she asked her- 
self was, whether Pornic’s accusations and suspicions, true 


THE EVE OF JUDGMENT. 


293 


or false, ought to he allowed to raise a terrible discussion 
in the family, and probably lead to great unhappiness for 
every one of them. 

The more she thought over that preliminary question, 
the quicker beat her heart. A sort of mephitic vapor, 
mounting up from the abyss, rose round her, choked her, 
made her feverish and excited. 

She remained a long time in ^he garden. Her deliber- 
ation, notwithstanding her own resolution not to examine 
into the principal question, extended beyond the points 
introduced by Pornic. The coarse convictions of the old 
sailor grew clearer in her head. She did not know the 
truth, but she grazed it, so to speak, as she thought of the 
two dark shadows between which she had maintained her- 
self ever since her marriage — reserved, respectful, distrust- 
ful, but discreet. 

The truth would probably be horrible. But was that 
a reason for avoiding it ? 

Berthe, frightened as she was, felt, I dare not say a 
new joy, but a new hope, as she thought how she had now 
an opportunity to prove thie greatness of her love. 

In every true marriage the harmony of will in the mar- 
ried pair is more perfect than the harmony of sense. There 
may be latent poetry in every household act, which, inter- 
mingling daily with the labors of life, gives home a fresher 
charm ; but having no struggle to maintain against dis- 
couragement or triviality, it has no need, no opportunity, 
to break forth into hymn or idyl. 

But should there come a moment when a husband and 
■wife, living such a life as nature has prescribed to married 
people, are threatened by some sudden danger, so that their 
unity of instinct and of feeling is in peril, poetry, which 
is really love in fermentation, displays itself even in the 


294 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


trivialities of the household. The wife — pure, womanly 
— ^becomes heroic ; and her daily duties not having ex- 
hausted the fount of her affections, she suddenly appears 
possessed of an extraordinary wealth of self-devotion. 

Berthe had married not expecting more than a happy 
home, enriched by daily toil, and embellished by mater- 
nity. Early made familiar with the details of a small 
household and a large factory, her dream had been to 
have a husband, handsome, kind, and true, like the young 
man whom she watched coming each morning to his work, 
and remaining all day busy in his counting-house — one, 
too, who might add lustre to the house of her father, an 
engineer of great talent, as everybody declared was the 
case with the young man who had invented the improve- 
ments in La Belle Gleopatre. 

Thanks to the power she had acquired over her father, 
which she used without abusing it, this double ambition 
had been realized. Berthe was satisfied. If the murder 
of Captain Kemuz, the presence of Madame Gosselin in 
her household, and the vicinity of M. Pleumeur, cast a 
shade over her happiness, the slight melancholy born of 
this remembrance and these untoward influences never 
had brought out her latent capacity. She might have 
grown old at the head of her own household, without 
finding any vent for that poetry of love and self-devo- 
tion implanted in the heart of every perfect woman, 
even when hardened by prosperity, or weakened by its 
long continuance. Berthe felt that her hour had now 
come. Some women desire to be beautiful, to have their 
day of glory in the world of fashion, to give, if they are 
good women, a triumph to their husbands, who, watching 
the effect produced by the perfection of their toilets, their 
fascination over others, have the satisfaction of remem- 


THE EVE OF JUDGMENT 


295 


beriiig that they themselves are the objects of the prefer- 
ence of her who is universally admired. 

Berthe, in the midst of her anxiety, said to herself 
that the time had now arrived when her husband would 
know fully, without any sacrifice of her retiring nature, 
all the height of her tenderness, all the power of her will, 
as perhaps he would never have known them but for this 
fatal circumstance. 

She would not have desired the trial ; but she was 
ready for it since it had arrived. She had thought, ever 
since her marriage, that, being the wife of a great manu- 
facturer, a man exposed to serious losses in his magnifi- 
cent enterprises — because obliged to take gigantic risks — 
she might be called upon, should any great misfortune 
ever overtake her husband’s business, to rise to the height 
of his genius, furnish him with wings, and, when the storm 
was fiercest, keep a glimpse of blue sky and its bright- 
ness over his head. 

The storm was gathering. It would break the very 
next day, perhaps, and shatter, not fortune which can be 
repaired, but affections which never might recover from 
their wounds. Berthe felt her mission might be to soften 
the fatal blow, and, since it could not be escaped, not to 
shun it, but to accept its stroke as an honorable wound. 

All this Berthe thought as she looked round the garden, 
the Eden of her married happiness, and gazed up to that 
handsome dwelling-house, which had been enlarged since 
her marriage, as if to widen the inner sanctuary of her 
affections, listening to the measured noise of the hammers 
in the workshops, hitherto the rhythm of her existence. 

By the time her meditation was concluded — ^through- 
out it was a prayer — and when her thoughts had glanced 
back over her past life, Berthe had fully made up her mind 


296 


MADAME aOSSELIM. 


to look the Clime that Pornic was to bring before her in 
the face, and then to lead her husband to look at it in the 
light that she did, for the sake of their mutual love, and 
the duty that belonged to them in common. 

Berthe had no idea of entrapping her husband into an 
act of heroism. She wished neither to manage nor con- 
trol him. All she felt was that in all things she was one 
half of her husband’s self, half of his character, half of 
his power of perseverance, half of his enthusiasm. 

The spark which either half struck out at once lighted 
up the other. If George was the first inspired, Berthe 
felt the electric shock. Now she must be the first to act. 
She drew back to tend the flame, to be sure that it would 
act in the right direction. But her mind being made up 
as to her womanly duty, she had not a doubt as to the true, 
manly view that would be taken of it by George. 

And so because they were both natural and true, this 
married pair, one with each other, were about to go together 
into heroic action ; not conscious of their own heroism, not 
proud of themselves, not puffed up by the knowledge that 
others were admiring their martyrdom — a satisfaction that 
often passes like a breath of cooling wind over a fiery 
furnace of affliction. 

Berthe left the garden clad in invincible armor, which, 
however, did not prevent her starting with a sudden shiver, 
when, as she crossed the court-yard, she found herself face 
to face with M. Pleumeur, who had just come out of a 
workshop. 

The young wife reddened, and looked down. M. Pleu- 
meur, much surprised, waited till she looked up at him. 
But when he saw the quick flush upon her face, and her 
features becoming paler and more set than usual — when 
he saw a new light in her eyes, shining, as it were, all 


TH'E EVE OF JUDGMENT. 


297 


round her head like the glory of a saint — it was his turn, 
under pretext of respect, to give her a lowly salutation, 
as, without saying a word, he passed her, like the fallen 
man, who, as the Bible tells us, passed forth before the 
flaming sword of the archangel. 

He went toward his counting-house, and, when he 
reached it, sighed. 

“ The end has come ! ” he said. 

Mechanically — or inspired to do it by some sudden, 
fearful thought — he put his hand to the back of his head, 
just where the wound had been in Captain Kernuz’s skull, 
as if the heel of the woman crushing the serpent’s head 
was already set upon the nape of his neck. 

Could the stem mathematician have had any such 
vision before his eyes, when he shaded them with his hand 
and sat absorbed in thinking ? 

If he had, it would be a proof that Poetry never dis- 
dains or avoids the heart of any human creature ; that she 
visits even the positivist in the supreme moments of his 
fate, when never-dying Conscience, suddenly uproused, 
makes herself heard. 

Berthe quickly reproached herself for the involuntary 
alarm she had shown at sight of M. Pleumeur. She went 
into the house in a state of nervous excitement, which she 
attributed to self-reproach. 

‘‘ Is this the way to be strong ? ” she whispered to her- 
self, trying to press her hand upon her heart and still its 
throbbing. 

She went into the parlor, to put dovm the unfinished 
work she had brought back from the garden. She paused 
before a table, on which was a large vase full of roses — 
Captain Kernuz’s roses, gathered at his villa at Kerantrec. 

She stooped down to inhale their perfume. Roses like 


298 


MADAME GOSSEZm. 


these had been the first confidants of her happiness. But 
a moment after she lifted up her head, and drew back with 
a shudder of disgust and horror. She remembered bow 
M. Pleumeur had brought her, on the veiy day of the 
murder, a bunch of these same roses ; and she fancied 
that, as she stooped over the jar upon her table, she had 
scented the odor of blood. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

BEFORE THE TRIAL. 

George Gosselin, like all men of great intelligence 
who are kept constantly busy, seemed often preoccupied. 
Because he enjoyed hungrily and rapi<fly during his meal- 
times, and after business hours, the luxury of caressing his 
wife and child, some persons might have thought that his 
domestic ties had but a small part in his existence. 

A small-minded, jealous woman might have com- 
plained of this. Berthe loved and esteemed her husband 
all the more for snatching hurried kisses ; she admired him 
for leaving her when the hours for work came round, well 
knowing that he thought of her and baby in his work, 
and in his counting-house. She was too sensible to throw 
obstacles in the way of his fame and fortune by any claims 
on behalf of baby and herself, which could only have 
worried him as an active man of business, without adding 
anything to his real tenderness toward both herself and 
her son. 

In the crisis now approaching, she relied upon the call 
that would be made on George’s energies by the works he 


BEFORE THE TRIAL. 


299 


had undertaken and planned, the necessity of attending to 
which would act as distractions from the sharp agony of 
the grief before him ; and, with this view, she stimulated 
his impatience to get back to work by detaining him more 
than she had ever done before in the bosom of his family. 

When George came in a little before dinner, Berthe was 
suddenly seized by a great wish for exercise, and got him to 
walk once or twice round the garden with her, and after 
dinner, during which she managed only once or twice to 
address Madame Gosselin, she carried George off with her 
to her own room, pretending all sorts of little follies and 
caprices which surprised and amused her husband. 

She affected to make believe that he was working too 
hard ; that he was growing old ; that he was getting thin ; 
that she was bound to see he did not wear himself out by 
taking no holiday. She displayed, indeed, so much femi- 
nine selfishness, that George was really annoyed at her, 
though he gave himself up to it, calling her charming and 
fascinating, and scolding her for being such a little tease. 

Poor Berthe ! All the time that she was playing off 
her fascinations on her husband, coquetting with him out 
of wifely love and pity, and with smiles upon her lips, re- 
calling to George’s memory the idyllic raptures of the first 
days of their marriage, she was saying to herself : 

“ To-morrow I shall cause him a great grief ! Have I 
fortified him enough against breaking down under a great 
sorrow ? May not the very joys of this bright evening 
make the blow more sure, more fatal to his future happi- 
ness and peace ? ” 

George, with that keen-sightedness kept alive in minds . 
trained in the habit to be always on the watch, and to fol- 
low up anything that excites their curiosity, was aware 
of a cloud of melancholy about his wife, under the glitter 


300 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


of her gayety. But he said nothing. He respected his 
wife’s feelings ; he remembered how often she had shown 
the same respect for him, when, in their happiest home 
moments, she had seen him out of spirits or preoccupied, 
because some problem that he could not solve was perplex- 
ing him even in his hours of recreation. 

The perfect mutual confidence of home, the true re- 
serve of true affection, does not demand the free exchange 
of every little secret ; but it requires that those who love 
should treat and be treated with mutual consideration, 
that each should be permitted to enjoy moments of soli- 
tude, reserve, or even of slight melancholy, without in- 
quiry or interference ; for such moments are often a relief 
even to happy hearts, and sometimes enable them, under 
the shadow of a passing cloud, better to perceive the happi- 
ness from which for a moment they have withdrawn them- 
selves that they may view it from a distance. 

George and Berthe loved each other after this fashion. 
Their confidence in one another needed no proving. If 
they sometimes kept their anxieties to themselves, they 
never kept their plans or purposes, being perfectly sure of 
agreeing with and being understood by one another, even 
if a little something was kept back that love might not be 
withered, by not recognizing its mysteries. 

During the course of that evening Berthe found an 
opportunity of meeting Pomic, and of saying to him that 
her mind was made up. The old sailor was much touched 
by this intimation, made before the time promised him, 
and offered a further delay. 

“ No,” said Berthe, resolutely ; “ all must be done to- 
morrow.” 

The old sailor bowed, and the young wife, leaving him 
to make his melancholy preparations for the interview, 


BEFORE THE TRIAL. 


301 


went and hung about her husband, who, although he had a 
great mind to go back a little while to his work, found 
it impossible that evening to part from her. 

The next morning Berthe said to him, with a kiss : 

“ Don’t go to the works, George. I want you.” 

“ To take a walk ? ” 

‘‘ No ; for an interview that Pomic seeks with you.” 

“ An interview ! Why, what a solemn word ! What 
can the good fellow want ? Send for him and tell him • 
that as I walk down to the works he can come too, and 
have his talk with me.” 

Berthe, still smiling, though a cold dew was gathering 
on her forehead, replied slowly, that emphasis might add 
to the impression of her words : 

“ Pornic wants me to be present at the conversation.” 

“ Well, then, call him at once.” 

“ He wants your mother, too, and M. Pleumeur.” 

“ Quite a family council ! Do you know what for ? ” 

The young wife’s heart was beating violently, and it 
was with difficulty she smiled this time ; but she felt the 
necessity of doing so. 

“ Yes, I know,” she said, with a tremble in her voice. 

“ Ah ! ” 

Pornic has a strange idea in his head. He imagines 
he has discovered the man we have so long been looking 
for — the murderer — ” 

George, who was sitting down, holding his wife by her 
two hands, sprang to his feet instantly. 

“ Whom does he suspect ? ” 

“ That is the most extraordinary part of it. It will 
seem utterly improbable to you — ^perfectly absurd. As I 
told Pornic — ” 

“Well, who is it?” 


302 


MADAME G08SELIN. 


‘‘ Pomic persists, and says lie has good proof.” 

“ Against whom ? ” 

Berthe had left her hands in the grasp of her husband. 
She wanted to withdraw them now, for she feared he 
would perceive that they were cold and moist ; she looked 
at him with unfathomable tenderness, as if to implore him 
not to be too much shocked, too much surprised, and 
bringing her mouth close to his, as if to give him the aw- 
ful information in a kiss, she said ; 

‘‘ He suspects M. Pleumeur.” 

George, in his amazement, thought of his wife before 
he thought of Pornic. He opened his mouth as if to 
laugh, though the laugh did not come, and squeezing 
Berthe’s hands in his own, with an earnest shaking of the 
head, he cried ; 

“ Oh, Berthe ! can it be that you repeat such a story ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, mon amiP 

“ Pornic must be mad.” 

“ So I told him.” 

“ He would not have dared to come and tell me such 
nonsense.” 

“No, I think not.” 

“ But you listened to him ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

George looked at his wife with more attention, but 
with anxious tenderness. 

“ And you listened to him ? ” he repeated. “ You heard 
him out ? ” 

“ I did try to interrupt him — to insist upon his being 
silent — ^but he persisted.” 

“ I’ll send for him. I’ll tell him what I think of it. 
I’ll make him offer an apology to M. Pleumeur ; and if 
he refuses, I will dismiss him from the factory.” 


BEFORE THE TRIAL. 


303 


That would not be right, mon amV'* 

“ Not right to Pomic ? ” 

“Not right toward the memory of Captain Kernuz, 
which is the cause of Pornic’s zeal.” 

“Captain Kernuz never liked M. Pleumeur, but he 
would be the last man not to wish me to stand up for one 
to whom I owe everything. I should be an ungrateful 
wretch to hesitate. I am remiss already for not having 
at once sent for Pornic and reproved him.” 

“ Pornic is not afraid to come. What he asks is to 
be confronted with M. Pleumeur in the presence of the 
family.” 

“ Indeed ! ” cried George, excitedly. “ So Pornic, an 
old sailor — ignorant, full of prejudices — to whom his sin- 
cere grief for his master has suggested some astounding 
nonsense — M. Pornic consents to do my old tutor the 
honor of slandering him in my presence, because he hates 
him. I decline the interview — the audience. If Pornic 
thinks proper, let him go with his tale to the police. I 
shall go, too, before the magistrates to defend M. Pleu- 
meur, and to offer bail for him,” 

“ George, all you ai*e now saying,” said Berthe, draw- 
ing her arm through that of her husband, “ I said to my- 
self yesterday in this garden, after talking with Pornic. 
But my judgment yielded at last.” 

“ Your judgment ? ” 

“Yes, my judgment ; and my prudence, too.” 

“ My dear wife ! you, who generally are so just ! ” 

“ It is exactly because I am most aijxious to be just 
now, mon ami, that, having first mistrusted Pornic’s preju- 
dices, I now mistrust my own good opinion of the man 
whom he persists in suspecting in this matter. There is 
evidently a mystery to be cleai’ed up. I hope one word 


304 


MADAME aOSSELIN. 


from M. Pleumeur will be able to do it. I am very sure 
be would wish for this interview.” 

“ Then I will go and speak to him. If he condescends 
to defend himself against Pomic, Pomic shall have what 
he asks for. Until then, nothing will shake my confidence 
in him.” 

“ Pornic is capable of some sudden violence.” 

“ What has that to do with it ? ” 

‘‘ Ah, George, what a true friend you are ! ” cried Ber- 
the, with truest admiration, which lent at the same time 
an unpremeditated support to her oratory. 

George, whose eyes were very bright, seized his wife in 
his arms and kissed her on the forehead. 

“ Yes,” he said, “ I love with all my might all those 
who love me. M. Pleumeur loves me — I have even some- 
times fancied he was jealous of my wife. How often have 
I felt his cold hand grow warmer in my grasp ! There 
are strange depths of feeling in his learned soul. But his 
misanthropy is not of a kind to lead him to homicidal pas- 
sions or base crimes. I cannot doubt him myself, nor in 
my house can I permit any one else to act as if I could 
possibly suspect him.” 

Berthe looked at her husband with that motherly, pro- 
tecting tenderness which is the crown and brightest ray 
of wifely love. And as she looked, he thought her so 
supremely beautiful, so touching with her look of heavenly 
pity, that he stopped short, feeling an impulse to yield to 
every wish she ever had expressed, from admiration for 
herself and a desire to do as she wanted him. 

Berthe, why do you look at me in that way?” 

‘‘ I am trying, dearest George, to find some means to 
spare you a great trial that hangs over us. But it must 
be met, however we may endeavor to avoid it.” 


BEFORE THE TRIAL. 


305 


“ What ! do you call that hateful and absurd story of 
Pornic’s a great trial ? ” 

“ I am not afraid for Pornic.” 

“ For whom, then ? ” 

“For M. Pleumeur — only for him.” 

Berthe spoke gravely, and a lingering touch of emotion 
made her voice tremble. Her husband was much moved, 
and, in spite of himself, a vague fear was forming in his 
mind. 

“ Have you said anything to M. Pleumeur about this 
matter ? ” 

“ Ho, mon ami; but I met him when I am sure my face 
was under the influence of the last words with Pornic. 
He bowed to me and passed on, but his look was a guilty 
one.” 

“You have been always so reserved with him that he 
does not feel at ease with you.” 

“ Ho, George, I am not mistaken,” replied Berthe, flrm- 
ly; “M. Pleumeur has a secret, and he fears that we are 
about to discover it. Your out-door work gives you no 
time to observe as closely as I do all that passes in the 
factory. That shot fired at the format has made M. Pleu- 
meur very uneasy. He would rather have had the man’s 
death upon his conscience than have missed his aim.” 

“ That man — that former galley-slave — was a robber, 
who might, for all we know, have come prepared for mur- 
der. M. Pleumeur was wrong to fire at him ; but he 
missed him, and I am thankful for it.” 

“He missed only because Pornic jogged his elbow. 
But Pornic is quite certain that but for that the bullet 
would have hit the format in the very spot where Cap- 
tain Kernuz was hit.” 

“ Pornic ! — still Pornic ! ” 


806 


MADAME GOSSELiy. 


Berthe did not answer this exclamation. 

“Did you ever know, George,” she said, “that M. 
Pleumeur was so good a shot ? ” 

“Yes, I knew it,” replied George, abruptly. 

He spoke, meaning to defend his old tutor. He meant 
to say it with a laugh, yet it was said gravely, and he grew 
pale as he spoke. He recollected a former conversation 
with M. Pleumeur on the road to Kerantrec, when that 
mathematician had pointed to certain gulls, saying he was 
sure he could bring them down, and that he never missed 
his aim. 

The attitude of his old tutor as he spoke, his cold, stern 
look, his haughty smile, and certain brutal theories which 
had from time to time saddened the trustful heart of the 
admiring pupil, came suddenly back to his memory. He 
frowned, and after a moment’s silence said : 

“ What motive could M. Pleumeur have had for killing 
Captain Kemuz ? ” 

That question was a great step gained. It showed that 
in his case, as in that of Berthe, the question which had 
started with the conviction that such a crime was a sim^- 
ple impossibility, now took in other considerations. 

Berthe cautiously received this indirect admission. 
Nor did she betray that she had arrived at any painful 
suppositions on the subject. 

“ The motive appears mysterious,” she said ; “ but Por- 
nic seems to think he has discovered it.” 

“ Did he tell it to you ? ” 

“ No. He does not wish to tell it till all the persons be- 
fore whom he wishes to speak out have come together.” 

George walked once or twice up and down the room. 
He was nervous, excited ; and when he at last stopped 
before his wife, he said ; 


BEFORE THE TRIAL. 


307 


‘'Tell Pornic he shall have what he demands.” 

“ Thank you, George.” 

“ Why do you thank me ? ” 

Berthe leaned her head upon her husband’s breast, and 
said : 

“ Because you have made the same effort at self-sacri- 
fice that I made in the same cause. Because we are now 
one in presence of a great sorrow, as we have always been 
one in our happy times. Ah ! George, we were almost too 
happy. We have such a lovely baby — you are acquiring 
so much fame, and so large a fortune, that we ought to 
pay a tax, lest men should envy our good fortune. Ah, 
George, how much I love you ! You are the noblest, the 
bravest of men ! ” 

“Are you not as brave as I am? Were you not the 
first to show your courage, for Pornic first spoke to you ? ” 

“ Ah ! hut my courage may have been mere pride. I 
was proud of knowing what I was certain you would do. 
I have no merit, for I only sought what I knew my love 
would win.” 

George gave his wife a long kiss, which brought the 
tears from their hearts into their eyes. They looked at 
each other in silence. Then George raised his head : 

“If Pornic has real grounds of suspicion,” he said 
aloud, “ if he can bring proofs such as should be laid be- 
fore the magistrates, I shall not be satisfied with this in- 
quiry with closed doors. I shall wish the matter to be 
made public.” 

Berthe did not oppose her husband, although she was 
not of his mind. Nor did she let him perceive that he 
was ready now to denounce M. Pleumeur, while a short 
time before he was only anxious to shield him from Por- 
nic’s suspicions. 


808 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


“Yes,” George continued, “I owe it to my own honor 
to make a public sacrifice, and to let all men perceive how 
much torture it will inflict on me. If M. Pleumeur be 
guilty — my master, my friend — I shall mourn as long as I 
live over his crime and its expiation ; for he must die. 
Perhaps that sorrow may be the price of my wealth and 
my good fortune.” 

Berthe stood almost benumbed by an emotion which 
uplifted her and terrified her at the same time. She ad- 
mired her husband. She felt that he had risen to the full 
height of the ideal that she cherished of him in her soul. 
But, while she knew that he would rise superior to the 
greatest trials, she could not but dread that there might 
arise out of the depth of the mystery some revelation of 
shame and horror that must stagger, though it might fail 
to subdue, her husband’s courage. But even this peril did 
not make her yield. She feared as brave men fear. She 
marched bravely into action though her heart beat wildly 
in her bosom. 

“ I will call Pomic,” she said, gently. 

George, too, gave orders that M. Pleumeur should be 
asked to come to him immediately. 

It was in the big drawing-room on the ground-floor 
that the consultation was to be held. 

Meantime George went to his own chamber ; that spot 
had no influences that his wife could dread, and Berthe 
would not break in upon her husband’s retirement. After 
the first shock he needed to be alone to recover himself. 
His wife did not wish to deprive him of the relief of tears. 

When she had herself given notice to Pornic, Berthe 
went up to the chamber of Madame Gosselin. Her visits 
to the widow’s room were rare, and the young wife felt 
herself more embarrassed now than she had as yet been. 


BEFORE THE TRIAL, 


309 


She asked Madame Gosselin to come down-stairs. She 
did not wish to deceive her, yet she felt a sudden in- 
stinctive repugnance to telling her that M. Pleumeur would 
be present. She told her, however, that it had something 
to do with Pornic, and related to the murder of Captain 
Kernuz. 

At the first words Madame Gosselin looked at her 
daughter-in-law with open eyes, whose varying light be- 
tray ed her sudden alarm, together with a great fear of 
showing it. 

“ I know nothing about it ; I can tell them nothing,” 
she stammered, hurriedly. 

“Nobo(iy proposes to question you, madame.” 

Generally, Berthe called Madame Gosselin “ Mother ; ” 
but this morning she could not bring her lips to frame the 
word. The widow noticed the change, and guessed its 
meaning. 

“ I am sick,” she said, leaning back languidly in her 
chair. 

Berthe did not express pity, nor even ask what was 
the matter with her ; she only gave her a quiet look. 
Madame Gosselin, who was dressed ready to go out, felt 
she had committed an error in telling such a plain un- 
truth. 

“Still,” she said, more quickly, and trying to avoid 
her daughter-in-law’s eye, “ if you wish it, I will make the 
effort. Do you think, daughter, that they cannot do with- 
out me ? ” 

“ I think not, madame.” 

This time there was no mistaking the intention. Ma- 
dame Gosselin’s voice had lingered affectionately on the 
word “ daughter,” and Berthe had laid a stress on the * 
word “madame.” The widow’s mouth could hardly re- 


310 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


press a sign of anger. Berthe stood waiting a reply that 
did not come. 

Madame Gosselin turned round suddenly, arranged two 
or three little things about her chamber — a last effort at 
dissimulation and composure — picked up her rosary, which 
she would have forgotten but for the presence of Berthe, 
and then came back to her daughter-in-law, with hands 
clasped before her. 

“ I am ready to follow you,” she said, in a voice now 
devoid of all expression. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE TRIAL. 

We have never yet described George Gosselin’s draw- 
ing-room. 

Indeed, does the household of a married couple of the 
middle class in provincial life require a drawing-room ? 
Not until the parents have served an apprenticeship to 
fashionable life, not until the children have grown large 
enough for company, not until there comes an obligation 
to give parties — and then the married pair have to forsake 
the nest of their early happiness, scatter its down, and 
make a drawing-room. 

The room in question was still the parlor of Mauroy & 
Company. George had changed it very little since his 
marriage. The tragedy about to take place within its 
four walls would owe no dramatic effects to its contrasts 
• of color or scenery. 

Luxury without excess, comfort not too perfect, fol- 


THE TRIAL. 


311 


lowing, but only at a distance, the modern taste for art 
in household furniture ; water-color drawings and plans 
of architects and engineers, beautiful from their extreme 
neatness and precision, but wanting that harmonious 
perfection that the art of painting, which perceives all 
things in Nature, might have added to the mere sketch of 
the draughtsman, adorned the walls, representing favorite 
ships constructed in the ship-yards of M. Mauroy, and in 
those of Mauroy & Gosselin ; this was all that would have 
struck a stranger on entering the large room. 

La Belle Cleopatre had one panel of the wall to her- 
self. George had had the frame of the picture mounted 
with the old arms of the sailors of Lorient — the golden 
lilies and the azure globe. Berthe appropriated a place 
of honor to this chef -d"* oeuvre of her husband, and had 
hung it over the fireplace. George did not object to it ; 
but he remembered the ambition of Captain Kernuz, and 
took pleasure in having the arms carved upon the frame. 

Some favorite volumes on shelves ; a piano, closed 
during the first year of their married life, and oftenest 
opened now to please the baby ; the inevitable photo- 
graphic album on the centre-table ; all the usual things, 
in short, found in the parlor of a provincial citizen, who 
has no vanity to display in carpets, no fortune to expend 
in finery, made up the accessories of the scene in which 
was to take place all we are now going to describe. 

And yet this large room, which appeared at first sight 
to have no character of its own, gave the observer an 
impression of truth, honesty, and simplicity. Neatness 
supplied the want of taste, and already there were symp- 
toms of that coming love of elegance which would develop 
itself after a while when the young couple should have 
time to attend to it. 


312 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


Berthe had not altered the arrangement of this room, 
which had been furnished by her mother. She only added 
to its furniture a bronze vase of beautiful workmanship, 
and two flower-stands, kept always full of flowers, which 
stood before each of the large windows, and gave a new 
and modern touch to the old drawing-room ; a touch she 
had felt due to her marriage with a savant ^w\io was some- 
what of an artist, and to her happy love for a good man 
who was passionately attached to her. 

Their business life, their home life, was not passed in 
this drawing-room, in which they never sat unless they 
had company. But the young wife and the young savant 
had imprinted even on this room enough of their love 
and then* superior qualities to make them feel at ease 
when they entered it, and to find it not out of harmony 
with their bedroom or the other parts of the house in 
which they lived their daily lives of love and labor. 

George heard his mother and his wife come down- 
stairs, and joined them as they entered the drawing- 
room. 

His face was very pale, but his color came and went, 
like the rise and fall of the waves. 

‘‘Good-morning, mother,” he said to the widow, ac- 
costing her, but accidentally omitting to hold out his 
hand. 

“Good-morning,” replied Madame Gosselin, briefly, 
looking round her with a frightened glance under her 
half-closed eyelids. She looked as she might have done 
had she expected to see instruments of torture awaiting 
her. 

Berthe drew up an arm-chair for her mother-in-law, 
and placed it so that she should sit with her back to the 
light. It might have been the simple attention of a well- 


THE TRIAL. 


313 


bred woman, but an observer might have thought that 
she was anxious not to place Madame Gosselin, like a per- 
son under suspicion, in such a position as to enable her 
judges to read her face. She placed her in the shade as 
if offering her an advantage for her self-defense. 

She herself crossed the room, and sat down on the op- 
posite side, in the full light from the windows. She 
wanted every one to see her fully, especially her husband, 
who might gain strength from her, if the examination 
were too much for him. 

George remained standing. He walked several times 
up and down the room. 

M. Pleumeur came in before Pomic. In his slow, de- 
liberate, steady step, there was no indication either of of- 
fended pride, or of astonishment at being sent for. He 
was pallid, cold, immovable, and closely buttoned up, 
though the weather was warm, in the long frock-coat 
which gave him the appearance of a clergyman. 

He waved his hand to George, who at that moment 
was at the farther end of the room ; gave a passing look at 
Madame Gosselin, who seemed to wither beneath it ; and 
stood leaning his back against the fireplace. He did not 
say one word ; he had a smile, however, for Berthe, who 
was sitting at his right, but the smile was only another 
way of saying good-morning. He acted as if it were 
quite a usual thing for him to be sent for in this manner, 
to talk over the affairs of the great factory. Indeed it 
was not the first time he had been summoned to a family 
council. 

M. Mauroy had been overlooked, but he came in with 
Pornic. Pornic had met him in the yard, and, without 
telling him what was going on, invited him to join them. 

The sailor’s entrance made George start and flush, then 
14 


314 


MADAME GOSSELIE. 


he walked rapidly up to the table in the middle of the 
room, and said : 

“You see, Pornic, I have consented to do what you 
have demanded of me. We are all together. Speak 
frankly, hut remember this : there is no crucifix in this 
room, before which I can call upon you to hold up your 
hand and swear to tell the truth, but I call upon you to tell 
me nothing but the truth. When all is told I shall accom- 
pany you before the magistrates. I give you warning.” 

Pomic had shaved himself, and put on his best clothes 
for the occasion. His face was perfectly calm. He looked 
George full in the face, as George had looked at him. 

“ I need no crucifix to make me afraid to bear false 
witness,” he said aloud. 

Then stretching out his hand toward the drawing of 
La Belle Cleopatre, he said : 

“ See, M. George, that picture is one dear to all of us. 
It reminds you of your great first work, and of your mar- 
riage. It reminds me of my old master’s kindness. I 
swear by that picture, as sacred to me as if it were a like- 
ness of our Lord himself, that I will tell no lie — ^but the 
truth. But you must let me tell the whole truth. If I 
have been deceived you must not blame me, or seek to 
punish me. I shall punish myself. You see it is a duel to 
the death, which is now going to begin.” 

“ What have you to tell us, Pomic ? ” resumed George, 
in a less confident voice, and half closing his eyes. 

Pornic had been standing in a comer of the room near 
the door. He came forward to get nearer to his hearers, 
and to be in the middle of the room. He naturally ap- 
proached the mantel-piece against which IVL Pleumeur was 
leaning. M. Pleumeur di’ew aside quietly, without a look, 
or gesture of any kind, and leaned his elbow on the other 


THE TRIAL. 


315 


end of the marble. Pornic took his station at the oppo- 
site comer. 

When he had placed himself there, like an orator in the 
tribune, he indulged himself in some of the airs of a man 
about to make a speech. He coughed, and blew his nose, 
but dared not spit, for fear of profaning the polished floor 
of the apartment, so he wiped his mouth, to give his 
weighty accusation freer passage, and began : 

“ W^hat I have to tell you, M. George, I could have 
wished — upon my word of honor — to withhold. I thought 
of doing so, but then I should have had to do justice by 
myself, and I should have been arrested as a murderer. 
I said, ‘ No, thank you ! I had rather be an executioner ; ’ 
and, if I cause you grief to-day, maybe I shall only be 
protecting you from greater griefs hereafter. It is bet- 
ter you should know everything, once for all, than make 
horrible discoveries piece-meal ; and, besides — ” 

Pornic might have kept on prolonging the opening of 
his speech. He was speaking to hide his embarrassment, 
but he only made it worse. His honest heart, as he spoke, 
saw, more clearly than he had ever done before, the whole 
extent of the monstrous, horrible accusation. Till brought 
into the light of day he had not thought it so awful ; but 
in this quiet room, with these attentive listeners, with the 
emotion of George, the fixed attention of Berthe, and the 
presence of M. Pleumeur and Madame Gosselin, he be- 
came frightened, and paused. 

“ Go on, Pornic,” said George. 

M. Pleumeur moved his head slightly toward the place 
where Pornic stood, as to approve his conduct, and request 
him to continue. 

“ You think I’m right, do you not ? ” resumed the sailor, 
with an effort. “ Well, then, I will begin at the beginning.” 


316 


MADAME GOSSEim. 


He related, growing clearer in his narrative as he went 
on, the scene we have already described, Pierre Borgnot’s 
visit in search of work to M. Pleumeur’s counting-house. 
He spoke of his astonishment at seeing M. Pleumeur pick 
up a loaded gun to rid himself of a format. The sight of 
that weapon in the hands of such a man had greatly dis- 
turbed him, and when he heard that the man had once 
been at the galleys, he could not understand the anger of 
M. Pleumeur. Above all, he could not account for Bor- 
gnot’s having told his name, and then insisted on a private 
interview with M. Pleumeur. 

“ It all,” said he, seemed as if there were something 
wrong about it, and that deuced gun seemed leveled at 
my brain. But I did not then begin to make any in- 
quiries. I only watched and waited. The adventure of 
the other night was a very different affair. When I found 
out there was a robber in the counting-house, I straight- 
way told monsieur — ^this gentleman. He went and got 
his gun again. I thought it was more than he wanted. 
A pair of good fists, or a stout stick, are enough, without 
a gun, to settle a robber. However, men who rob at 
night don’t let themselves be captured very easily, and 
the man might make resistance. Only when Pierre Bor- 
gnot had broken his teeth — I mean his file — trying to open 
the safe, and when he walked out over the roof, did I think 
a gun useless. But monsieur thought otherwise. He 
wanted to ged rid of that rascal who was prowling about 
in the moonshine. He was sorry not to have caught him 
after picking the lock of the safe ; and when Borgnot got 
to the place where he had left the ladder by which he got 
up and meant to get down again, I saw in monsieur’s 
eyes a spark that might have fired a train of powder. 
He put his gun to his shoulder ; he aimed it at the man. 


THE TRIAL, 


317 


I was frightened, I must oto. The fellow was only a 
format ; but I seemed to see the very air and look in 
handling the gun which was the death of that honest 
jnan, Captain Kemuz, just as he now wanted to kill the 
format. It was a mere fancy — was it not ? But fancy 
sometimes leads to discoveries. My blood gave one bound. 
I grew excited. I jogged M. Pleumeur’s elbow. The 
gun went off, but the fellow was not killed ! ” 

Here Pornic paused to take breath, and wipe his fore- 
head. 

“We know all that,” said George, impatiently. 

“Yes, you know that ; but you don’t know what hap- 
pened afterward. I sprang forward. I ran round the 
building. I got to the foot of the ladder, and picked up 
the man, who had fallen.” 

“Was he wounded?” asked George, eagerly. 

Pornic could not restrain a horribly mocking smile. 

“ Wounded ? He was wounded ! Wounded just here 
in the neck. To do justice to M. Pleumeur, he is a capi- 
tal shot, and, but for me, he would have lodged his ball 
right in the man’s skull, just in the very place where the 
ball hit Captain Kernuz. That’s the right spot — isn’t it, 
M. Pleumeur?” 

A solemn silence followed these words. Every one 
saw the scene before him, just as Pornic had seen it, only, 
instead of the for^aty Captain Kemuz was the victim. 
George’s eyes glowed and his lips quivered. Berthe 
looked at him with increasing anxiety. Madame Gosselin 
looked colder than ever, and was hidden behind her mask 
of wax. M. Pleumeur seemed the only indifferent lis- 
tener. 

As for M. Mauroy, he was curious — ^that was all. He 
had no apprehension that anything could come of it. 


318 


MADAME G088ELIN. 


“ What did you do with the wounded man ? ” he asked 
of Pomic. “Why did you not turn him over to the 
police ? ” 

“ W^hen I picked him up,” replied Pornic, “ he was in. 
a kind of swoon. But fellows like him are like cats ; they 
are accustomed to tumbles, and get over them in no time. 
WTiile I was helping him up, and before I had found out 
he was wounded, he began to swear, and between two 
tremendous oaths he pronounced a name.” 

“ WTiat name?” asked George, interrupting him. 

“ A name you never heard, M. George, but which other 
people here present know very well.” 

“ Tell me the name,” repeated the engineer. 

Pomic stretched out his hand, as a sign that he begged 
not to be interrupted in his narrative, and went on : 

I will tell you in good time. Pierre Borgnot cursed 
him, and, shaking his fist, said he knew why he had been 
shot at. It was to prevent his telling something. Telling 
something ! I don’t know what it was that passed through 
my mind when he said it. I obeyed a wish that I had al- 
ready formed, almost without being conscious of it, but I 
felt it granted to me now because my heart beat so vio- 
lently. I carried the man off — or, rather, I assisted him 
to walk — and promised that he should not be aiTested. 
For a quarter of an hour he supposed, no doubt, that he had 
to do with a scamp like himself. I told you a stoiy, for 
which you will have to pardon me, about his getting out 
over the bridge of boards in the saw-yard. That was 
the way he got in. The real truth is, I took him out by 
the little side-gate of the yard, of which I keep the key. 
I put him in a safe place. Excuse me again, M. George, 
I shut him up in Captain Kemuz’s house — yours now — and 
there I took care of him and cured him. His wound was 


THE TRIAL. 


319 


slight — just a long cut at the back of the head. He did 
not try to get away. He had everything to gain by stay- 
ing with me. I treated him well. All I wanted of him was 
to talk. I boarded and lodged him ; and I swore to him 
that when I sent him off, I would give him money. May 
Heaven forgive me ! I do think the scoundrel, when he 
goes, will take with him a real regard for me, and grati- 
tude. At this moment he is under guard not very far 
off. Captain Gosselin’s sailor is looking after him. If 
you would like to see him, and get him himself to tell you 
his story, I will answer for his speaking out what he 
knows.” 

‘‘No need of that,” said George. “ Speak for him.” 

“ Well, this Pierre Borgnot, alias Pas de Vis, because 
of his little knack of unscrewing the locks upon men’s 
safes and boxes, says he recognized in M. Pleumeur an 
old acquaintance, who was by no means glad to see him 
again; and he accuses M. Pleumeur of having fired at him, 
meaning to take his life, and so get rid of him.” 

“ Is that true ? ” asked George Gosselin, with hesitation, 
like that of a frightened child, turning toward M. Pleu- 
meur. 

For the first time the man of marble appeared moved. 
Before returning any answer he looked full at George. 
There was no anger, no indignant pride, in that long look, 
but it was keen and anxious, and moved George to the 
very depths of his soul. Then, only opening his lips 
enough to let the words pass forth, he said : 

“ If I say ‘ No,’ will you believe me ? ” 

George hesitated. 

“ Yes,” he replied at last, but his voice trembled. 

M. Pleumeur smiled, yet his smile expressed no grati- 
tude for this last proof of regard ; it was a smile of pity 


S20 


MADAME aossEim. 


for the hesitation, for the shaken confidence betrayed by 
the unsteady monosyllable. Then lifting up his head : 

“ I would rather answer M. Pomic once and for all,” he 
said, in his sharp, proud voice, “ when M. Pornic has done.” 

Madame Gosselin had remained motionless as a statue 
up to this moment. The words of M. Pleumeur were a 
spell that broke the charm. 

“ What ! my son,” she said, trying to imitate the firm 
language that had galvanized the life within her, “will 
you suffer that man to accuse your master ? ” 

“ Mother, I have brought him face to face with the 
accusation that he may crush it ! ” 

“ Go on, Pomic,” said M. Pleumeur, in a dry tone of 
command, which cut short any reply from Madame Gos- 
selin. 

Pomic went on : 

“ Pierre Borgnot, who was once a galley-slave, claims 
to have known at the galleys a man named Denis Ram- 
bert, a gentleman who had had a good education, and who 
had been found guilty of an attempt at burglary, having 
broken into an inhabited house ; and he says this Denis 
Rambert is no other than M. Denis Pleumeur.” 

“ How abominable ! ” cried George, grand in his anger, 
and about to spring on the old sailor and insist upon his 
holding his tongue. 

But at the name of Denis Rambert, Madame Gosselin 
rose. 

“ It is not true ! ” she said, in a loud voice. 

George was astonished at her interference. Berthe 
looked up at the ceiling, that she might not be tempted 
to look at her husband, and implore him to be patient, 
or at Madame Gosselin, to warn her to be pmdent. She 
wished to leave it all to the justice of God. 


THE TRIAL, 


321 


M. Mauroy bent bis head, and began looking down 
upon the polished floor. The conversation seemed to be 
growing tragic, and to be getting a little beyond him. 

M. Pleumeur frowned, and said to Madame Gosselin, 
in his iciest tones : 

“Why do you defend me, madame, when I do not 
think proper to defend myself ? ” 

“ Take care, Pomic ! ” exclaimed George, angrily; you 
are going beyond the liberty I gave you.” 

“Let me go on, M. George. Up to this time, all I 
have said only concerns M. Pleumeur ; and, you see, he 
does not deny it.” 

“What are you coming to? Suppose this resem- 
blance was real ? ” 

“ It is more than a resemblance.” 

“ You are mad, Pomic ! — But answer him, monsieur 
—-answer him, I beg ! ” 

George joined his hands in supplication. 

“By-and-by I will,” replied M. Pleumeur, slowly and 
frigidly, with the same smile, only sadder than before. 

George fell back in his chair, put his hands before his 
face, and leaned his elbows on the table. 

“ Make haste and finish, Pomic,” he said, roughly. 

“I have not nearly finished, and I ask your pardon, 
good M. George, for all the pain I am giving you. I was 
as hard to convince as yourself — as surprised — as much 
stunned by it as you; but then, you see, I was not blinded 
by gratitude. And, besides, I always had before me that 
scene with the gun. I took it into my head that any one 
so anxious to cut short people’s words must have dreadful 
cause to be afraid of what they could tell. I got Pas de 
Vis to tell me everything he could about the fellow whom 
he thought he could identify as M. Pleumeur, his old 


322 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


comrade at the galleys, and this is what he told me: Denis 
Rambert was condemned about twenty-five years ago, at 
the Assize Court at Nantes, for trying to rob a country- 
house, about nine miles from that city, inhabited by — ” 

Here Pornic hesitated, then uttered the next words 
rapidly — 

“ By Captain Gosselin, his wife, and child.” 

George started up straight in his chair with a cry. Ma- 
dame Gosselin had risen to her feet. This time George 
did not address Pomic ; he looked at M. Pleumeur. 

“ Is this true ? Is this true ? ” he asked. 

M. Pleumeur smiled more decidedly, as if he had a 
sharper pain to hide, and made no answer. 

“ No ! It is not true ! ” answered Madame Gosselin 
for him, as, carried away by her emotions, she shook her 
clinched fist at Pomic, without perceiving that her rosary 
was wrapped around her hand. 

M. Pleumeur again turned toward her. 

“Nobody has asked for your testimony, madame. 
What is the use of offering it before the time.” 

“ I will not suffer them to say such things of you.” 

M. Pleumeur shrugged his shoulders. 

“You suffered it, anyhow, before the court upon the 
trial,” said Pornic. 

“I did?” 

“Yes, you did, madame.- It was said that your testi- 
mony convicted Denis Rambert, when you might have 
saved him.” 

“ It’s false ! ” stammered Madame Gosselin. 

“Well, anyhow, it is no lie of mine. I have been to 
Nantes, and I have here in my pocket a copy of the sen- 
tence, and a paper with an account of the trial.” 

Madame Gosselin fell back in her arm-chair. 


THE TRIAL. 


323 


“ Suppose it were all true,” she said ; “ it was Denis 
Rambert who was tried and sentenced, not M. Denis Pleu- 
meur.” 

“ They are the same.” 

“No!” 

“ I can prove it, madame.” 

“This is too abominable.! My son, this man is trying 
to involve you so as to indulge his hatred. He has got up 
this story with that robber and galley-slave. — Is it not an 
insult to us, M. Mauroy, to ask us to be present at such 
atrocious investigations? For my part, I will hear no 
more of them.” 

Madame Gosselin seemed wholly to have shaken off 
those swathings and wrappings which had bound her like 
a mummy for many years. With her flash of indigna- 
tion came hack the fire of youth. Passion had hurst the 
bonds of her long hypocrisy ; the volcano was smoking ; 
her eyes glared brimstone, if they did not emit flame. 

Berthe here rose up, and placing herself gently before 
her, said : 

“Mother, however painful this explanation may be to 
all of us, it must be carried out to the end. I beg of you 
to stay.” 

“ Ah ! my daughter, you call me mother now, because 
you think you see a chance of doing me some harm. You 
never loved me ; you are on the side of my enemies.” 

“Your enemies ! Do you mean me — and your own 
son ? ” 

“Pornic is my chief enemy.” 

“ Mother,” said George, in a tone of authority, “ you 
are free to leave the room. But Pornic will now have to 
speak out all he has to say. You have no enemies among 


324 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


Madame Gosselin still wanted to resist, but M. Pleii- 
meur looked at her with such disdainful eyes that she sub- 
sided before his look, more than before her son’s words. 
She resumed her place, and remembering even in this un- 
masking of her hypocrisy her habitual devotional prac- 
tices, she clasped her hands eagerly over her rosary, and 
raised the first bead to her lips. 

Pomic during this interruption had pulled out of his 
pocket a paper and a newspaper. When he thought he 
might go on, he said : 

“Here is the description of Denis Rambert. You will 
see if it does not apply to M. Denis Pleumeur. Years have 
not so greatly altered him. Here, at full length, is the re- 
port of the trial in the paper. Nothing is wanting ; you 
have it all — the cross-examination and the speeches of the 
counsel. Denis Rambert pleaded guilty. Captain Gosselin 
was his accuser, and Madame Gosselin, in court, before all 
the people, lifted up her hand before the crucifix, and 
swore that he was guilty. Take them ; read them all your- 
self, M. George, and forgive me once more for bringing 
them before you. But you will see if I have lied.” 

Pomic held out his document and the newspaper. 
George made a gesture of disgust, and pushed them from 
him. M. Mauroy, less concerned, took them, and looked 
them through rapidly. 

Pornic showed no sense of triumph. He was accom- 
plishing a painful duty. He knew that every word he 
spoke was bringing sorrow into this family ; but he was 
forced to avenge his master’s death. George, alas ! was 
not his partner in this work ; he was his victim. But 
through all the misery of the young engineer, Pornic fan- 
cied he saw something which afforded him bitter consola- 
tion and encouragement. They could never forgive him 


THE TRIAL. 


325 


for tlie sorrow he was causing them. He would he forced 
to part from them forever. They would see him no more. 
But they could not despise him. 

Pornic waited until George should tell him to go on; 
but George had resumed his former attitude, with his face 
covered with his hands, endeavoring to recollect himself 
among the numerous threatening phantoms which seemed 
to rise and multiply around him. 

The revelation stifled him. M. Pleumeur tried and 
condemned for theft, on the accusation of his father and 
the testimony of his mother ! M. Pleumeur afterward 
his tutor by his mother’s permission — his mother, who 
always let it be inferred that she had never known him ! 
What did it all mean? What horrible dishonor might 
not this discovery lead to ? What dreadful gulf might 
be awaiting him at the end of this dark avenue ? 

He felt as if he wished to cry aloud — to weep aloud. 
He was choked by the anathemas in his heart, and suffo- 
cated by unuttered sobs. He dared not look in the faces 
of those around him ; not on M. Pleumeur, who would 
not defend himself ; not on his mother praying, doubt- 
less, that the truth might not be all found out ; not on his 
wife, whose heroic sympathy he now could understand. 

M. Mauroy, less excited, said to Pornic, after rapidly 
glancing over the papers : 

“ What connection can this disreputable story have 
with the murder of Captain Kemuz ? ” 

Pornic had put off as long as possible the last part of 
his deposition. He would by this time have been very 
glad to go no further ; but others had to be convinced by 
the same steps that had convinced him. 

He resumed, in a voice hoarse with emotion : 

“ I have slandered M. Pleumeur. I beg his pardon. 


326 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


He never, by profession, belonged to the same class as 
Pierre Borgnot. They never thought so at the galleys. 
He was so proud and calm, he showed such submission to 
his lot, that he went by the name of ^ Le format volon- 
taire ’ — the voluntary galley-slave. It was thought that 
he pleaded guilty that he might not have to disclose the 
true motive of his being found at night in Captain Gos- 
selin’s chamber.” 

Pornic panted as he spoke. George lifted his face from 
his hands. Dread of a fresh horror was upon him, and 
a cold sweat broke out over his forehead. He looked at 
his mother ; she seemed absorbed in whispering her pray- 
ers. He looked at M. Pleumeur standing motionless, but 
his pale face seemed to be colored with a faint pink glow, 
like the summit of a snow-covered mountain at sunset. 

The forced smile on his lips seemed more tender than 
before. A new gleam shone in his eyes. The stoical 
mathematician seemed pleased at this first sign of justice 
done him. He had suffered himself to be treated as a 
convict ; he was now assuming the character of a hero. 
He could abide the final charge of being a murderer. 

George looked at his wife. All now was clear to 
Berthe. She glanced at M. Pleumeur, not with forgive- 
ness for the crime, whose history was yet to be disclosed 
to her, but with pity for the sacrifice he had made, and a 
species of admiration for his bravery. She was thankful 
to him, at least, for having carried out his sacrifice. 

But George could feel neither indulgence, admiration, 
nor pity. Pornic’s accusation was now beginning to in- 
clude his mother. He perceived how his father had taken 
bitter vengeance for the treachery that had dishonored his 
home, by a false accusation against the traitor. But since 
stoicism and courage had had part in the tragedy, George 


rSE TEIAL. 


B27 


was the more resolved to be stoical and valiant too. He 
did not cover his face again ; he sat up in his chair, and all 
might see the tears that fell fast down his cheeks. 

Pornic went on : 

“ I will ask your pardon in the lump, Madame George, 
when I have done,” he said, “ for giving you no hint of 
these dreadful things ; but in the garden I dared not men- 
tion this part of my discovery. I should have made you 
blush before me — no one there but myself ; and then you 
might have hindered me. The notion that they had about 
Denis Rambert at the hulks was a lucky one for him. 
They pardoned him before he had served his time ; but I 
came to the same conclusion without difficulty. After 
the first oaths and curses that I heard from Pierre Bor- 
gnot, I found the clew that I was seeking. It came upon 
me like a flash that M. Pleumeur had fired at Captain 
Kemuz to prevent his disclosing what he had just learned 
in Captain Gosselin’s letter.” 

“ How do you know the contents of that letter ? ” 

Pornic here related the coarse irony of Captain Ker- 
nuz on the very morning of his death, when, as he was 
going out, he asked his old sailor if he would ever have let 
himself be accused of house-breaking, and sent to the gal- 
leys, to save anybody’s honor. All became clear — the 
anger of Captain Kernuz, and his exclamation concerning 
the “ wretches ” he intended to annihilate. 

He had gone out intending to unmask M. Pleumeur, 
and to execute the revenge commanded by Captain Gosse- 
lin. The sailor who was in attendance as well as Pierre 
Borgnot might be called on to give testimony. He could 
tell about strange words the captain had spoken, partly 
in anger, partly prompted, perhaps, by a feeling of re- 
morse, Captain Kernuz had gone out early in the morn- 


328 


MADAME G08SELIN. 


ing, taking with him the letter of Captain Gosselin. M. 
Pleumeur, to get possession of the letter, had murdered 
Captain Kernuz. 

The chain of reasoning seemed clear, straight, and cruel. 

“ Could the murderer,” asked M. Mauroy, “ have known 
that Captain Kernuz would have this letter about him ? 
And could any one have given him warning beforehand of 
the captain’s intention to take that walk in the early 
morning ? ” 

“Of course.” 

“Who did?” 

Pornic hesitated, but while he hesitated he glanced so 
steadily at Madame Gosselin, that every one followed the 
direction of his accusing eyes. 

The widow appeared absorbed in prayer. Perhaps 
she really did pray. But by long habit she had acquired 
the faculty of doing two things at the same time, and fol- 
lowing two trains of thought, if indeed she put any 
thought at all into her devotions. 

She felt they were all looking at her. Suddenly she 
started, and rising from her arm-chair again, said to Pornic: 

“ It was not I ! ” 

“ Who was it, then ? ” 

“ Why do you suspect me ? You know very well — ” 

“ I know I went in search of you that very evening, 
with a message from Captain Kernuz, asking you to go 
down into his chamber. I know that when my captain 
sent me, he seemed very angry. I know you had a long 
conversation with him. I did not listen ; but at its close 
the captain was in a great passion. He broke his pipe — a 
thing that never happened to him except in a heavy gale, 
or the night before some great misfortune. After you 
left his room you went out of the house.” 


THE TRIAL, 


329 


‘‘ I went to church.” 

“You took the road to church, I know. But that is 
also the best way to get down to the river-side, if you don’t 
want to be seen. As you did not come back for a good 
while, and as it was getting late, I got uneasy. I went to 
church to find you. The church was closed. You had 
not calculated on my getting anxious about you ; and I 
ought to have guessed, when I found that you had got 
home by another road, that you had been playing a trick 
upon me.” 

“ I had been to the chapel — ” 

“Yes, so you told me. And I was simple enough to 
believe that, at that hour of the night, they were still 
burning wax candles in the chapel of St. Christopher. 
But I know better now. You were deceiving me.” 

“ I told the truth. I had been there to pray for the 
repose of Captain Gosselin’s soul.” 

Pornic had been trying to give in all his testimony 
with calmness, but this last speech exasperated him. He 
folded both arms, with clinched fists, across his breast, and 
making one step forward, said : 

“ Maybe, Madame Gosselin, you also went to pray for 
the repose of Captain Kernuz, who was to be killed a few 
hours later.” 

Madame Gosselin was almost about to spring upon him, 
but a scornful expression on M. Pleumeur’s lips, as she 
looked up, made her drop back into her seat. 

George, annihilated, overcome, plunged in a black 
gulf of infamy, seemed hardly to hear what followed, and 
offered no further interruption. Berthe rose. 

“ Pornic ! ” she said, trembling, “ have a care ! ” 

“Ah, madame, I am almost done now,” replied the 
sailor, gravely and respectfully. “Was I not right in 


830 


MADAME GOSSELIM. 


warning you that this matter ought not to go beyond the 
family ? If I could have held back this last revelation, 
I would gladly have buried the secret. But it would 
have been contrary to my duty — a disobedience of orders. 
Once again forgive me, if you can. I have not done 
this thing out of unkindness. I respect you, madame, 
and I love your husband. I have been led to this by no 
feelings of hate. I used to detest M. Pleumeur, it is 
true, but I wouldn’t have accused him unless I was cer- 
tain of his guilt. As to Madame Gosselin, I swear by my 
mother’s memory — and she was a good woman — that it is 
not because I am wishing to deprive her of her son’s re- 
spect that I have spoken. I had to tell all or nothing. I 
have told all ; now send me away if you will. As I go I 
will stop in the graveyard, and ask Captain Kernuz if I 
have done well or ill ; the poor dead man will, maybe, 
turn over in his coffin and say, ‘ Thou hast done what I 
could not do — thou hast avenged me and avenged Gos- 
selin.’ ” 

A deep silence, such as comes after a great crash, fol- 
lowed the sailor’s words. 

The widow made no protest ; she waited till her son 
should pronounce sentence. She felt that it would be use- 
less to make any tender appeals to his filial love. Her 
habitually assumed dignity with George had created a 
distance between them, which made her position before 
him as a criminal, while he sat as judge, less unnatural 
than it would otherwise have been. 

All looks were now turned toward him. M. Pleumeur 
looked at him with eager curiosity. It seemed as if he 
were really interested in George’s conduct as a problem, 
and, while standing ready to set him right if he should 
en’, was very desirous to see George work it out for him- 


THE TRIAL, 


331 


self by the methods he had taught him — as if he had 
ever taught him how to deal with problems of that kind. 

Berthe did the best she could not to let the pain that 
tortured her appear in her face. She did not repent of 
having allowed Pornic to speak out, nor of having in- 
duced her husband to permit this meeting. It was a ter- 
rible trial for her and George, but it was a necessary trial. 
She was strong enough to bear it to the end. Her hus- 
band must not faint under the burden ; and she waited, 
pale and trembling, for the moment when she might fling 
her arms around his neck, and hide the gulf that had 
opened suddenly on his path of life, if he shuddered to 
look down into it. 

Pornic now looked at George with timid humility. 
He thought it probable enough that a son struck down 
on all sides, wounded in every fibre of his being, obliged 
to give up every one whom he had hitherto loved, except 
his wife and child, would bid him begone forever from 
his sight ; not from anger, but from grief, because the 
sight of one who had destroyed his honor and happiness 
would be too much for him. 

M. Mauroy was sincerely shocked, but he thought 
more of the public scandal that might rise out of this 
family tragedy than of the cruel rents of affection it was 
about to cause. 

His daughter had little love for Madame Gosselin, and 
never had liked M. Pleumeur. His son-in-law was, after 
all, a man of great courage and firm wilL The first thing 
to be done in the earliest transports of his despair was to 
prevent his saying or doing anything that might make it 
known abroad. After a while, great projects, the pressure 
of business, and the pleasures of success, would heal the 
wounds made in his filial feelings. 


332 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


M. Mauroy thought it best that he should be the fifst 
to break the silence. 

“ Pornic,” he said to the old sailor, with the solemn 
kindness of a bourgeois who does not want a scene, “ you 
have done your duty. For my part, I thank you for 
having spared my son-in-law and the house of Mauroy & 
Gosselin the stain of a public investigation.” 

George was roused from his stupor by these words. 

“Why,” he exclaimed, sitting upright, and throwing 
his arms out nervously, “ should we dread the exposure of 
a trial ? It must take place. I said at the beginning that 
if Pornic had a case, justice must take cognizance of this 
murder. And it shall ! What care I for public talk and 
public shame when I have so many sorrows ? Am I to 
spare myself ? No ! I am no fit judge of him who taught 
me ; I have no right to be my mother’s judge. Go and 
give in your deposition, Pornic, and if I have not the 
courage to support it, let me die ! ” 

These last words were uttered with a sob. 

Berthe hastened to her husband. She was not alarmed 
by his talking about death, for she knew she could attract 
him back to life again ; but she was wretched in his mis- 
ery. George, however, was worthy of his brave young 
wife. When she clasped his hand, he raised hers to his 
lips, and then folding it in his own, he turned to M. Pleu- 
meur. 

“Well, sir,” he said, coldly, “ Poniic has told all. Now 
is the moment to reply to him.” 

“ I have only one answer to make,” said M. Pleumeur, 
in that terribly cold voice which made its hearers shiver 
as if cold steel had been applied to their skin. “ M. Por- 
nic has been very ingenious in all his theories, very skill- 
ful in his deductions, and very bitter in his demonstra- 


THE PLEADING. 


333 


tions. His results are perfectly correct, and admit of no 
contradiction. He has not found out everything, but 
what he has found is clear and certain.” 

This way of talking, though perfectly in character with 
the man, added to the horror which every one felt at the 
tragedy. The majesty and dignity of a judge suddenly 
shone out in George Gosselin, and he rose above the ordi- 
nary level of humanity. 

Pornic,” said he, “go before the magistrates ! ” 

He stood up ; his eyes gleamed ; he drew himself to 
his full height, resolved neither to be softened nor intimi- 
dated. 

Pomic hesitated ; then, after a moment, he turned 
toward the door. 

“ Stop 1 ” said M. Pleumeur. 

At this imperious command Pornic stopped short, as 
if turned to stone, and each person present raised his head 
and looked at M. Pleumeur. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE PLEADING. 

With his anus crossed over his breast, pale as usual, 
but with a slight moisture breaking out upon his skin, 
which added a strange lustre to his paleness, M. Pleumeur 
walked up to the table behind which George was placed, 
and, looking down upon his pupil, fixed him, as it were, 
with the cold, glittering brightness of his eyes. 

“ Before the gendarmes come, George, I should like to 
sjffeak a few words to you.” 


884 


MADAME GOSSELim 


Speak!” 

“ I should like to say them to you alone.” 

« Speak!” 

“ Even before Pornic ? ” 

“Yes, even before him.” 

“ I’ll go,” said the sailor, looking mistrustfully at the 
man who did not seem willing either to defend himself or 
to confess before him. 

“Stay, Pomic,” said George, “I beg of you. I no 
longer dare to say that you are one of the family — but 
your honest faithfulness entitles you to know all.” 

“ So be it, then,” replied M. Pleumeur, drawing back, 
and taking his old place with his back against the fireplace, 

Madame Gosselin, during this rapid interchange of 
words, in great agitation and uneasiness, slipped from her 
chair to her knees. 

“ Denis ! ” she exclaimed, holding up her hands. 

Denis Pleumeur looked down upon her. 

“Are you afraid?” he said, harshly. “You are not 
worthy of your son ! Admire him, as I do, in his noble 
indignation. Rise ! you have prayed enough these thirty 
years, madame. Let go your beads, and stand up before 
our judge.” 

He took her by the arm and forced her to rise. Then, 
turning to George, he said : 

“ Before you have me arrested, tried again, condemned, 
and sent back yonder — or out there upon the place — ” 

Here M. Pleumeur moved his head, as if to indicate 
the guillotine — 

“ You ought to know me fully. You will be able bet- 
ter to weigh your duty.” 

He stopped. His lips moved, but no sound came ; 
then he said, after a long sigh : • 


7HE PLEADING. 


835 


George, I am your father ! ” 

A cry escaped from his hearers. 

“ If the magistrates examine me,” continued M. Pleu- 
meur, “ that will be the first and the sole answer I shall 
make them. I shall repeat it to the jury. The secret of 
my whole conduct lies in these words. Now have me ar- 
rested, if you think proper.” 

Every face was red with shame and various emotions. 
Madame Gosselin, who had covered her face with her hands, 
took them away. Now that all was over, she could afford 
to be seen in her own character. 

Perceiving a sort of desperate inten’ogation in her son’s 
eyes : 

“It is true,” she said, boldly. 

“You ! — my father?” murmured George, in terror. 

“ Yes, I. Had circumstances permitted it, would you 
not have been glad to be my son? You were so happy as 
my pupil ! Do what you please with me, George. I may 
confess to you now that I have been very happy in being 
your father ; and at this moment, when you feel nothing 
but horror at me, I still feel the same happiness — the only 
happiness I have ever known.” 

M. Pleumeur, though still stiff, as was his wont, in car- 
riage, bearing, and gesture, at last allowed the mask of 
ice upon his face to melt away, and the tenderness that 
burned in his heart shone forth in his features. 

George heard but hardly heeded what was going on. 
His comprehension of it appeared involuntary. M. Pleu- 
meur’s words sank one by one like heavy drops into his 
heart ; and, while we glance into that pure fount of feel- 
ing, we may observe that, even in the very moment when 
his whole being seemed rent asunder, he was conscious of 
a feverish kind of furtive, secret, hateful satisfaction which 


336 


MADAME GOSSELIN, 


he detested, but which, in spite of himself, prevented him 
from execrating that awful father — so self-devoted as for 
his sake to he guilty of a crime. 

M. Pleumeur went on, with a ring in his voice which 
all heard for the first time : 

“ I might have denied, I might have disputed, Pornic’s 
statement ; I might even have prevented your ever hear- 
ing it. Whenever a man like myself has broken all rela- 
tions with society, has reduced, as I have tried to do, all 
the acts of his life to algebraic fonnulas, it costs him no 
more to tell a lie than to strike down one who is the de- 
positary of some inconvenient truth. I might also have 
escaped.” 

George gave a sigh, which showed regret that he had 
not done so. M. Pleumeur smiled bitterly. 

“ Then you think, George, things would have been 
better if I had disappeared, and left no trace behind? 
Ko ; they would not. Since this inquiry was opened, it 
was necessary either that your unshaken confidence in me 
should close it at the outset, so that your peace would re- 
main unshaken, or that it should be fully carried out. 
When I saw that you doubted me, I detennined to tell 
you everything.” 

“ I did not need to know so much,” cried George, with 
a sob. 

“You are mistaken ; for since my will gave way in the 
beginning under the influence of my paternal weakness, 
there was no other way of restoring your peace of mind 
but by a full explanation.” 

George seemed astonished at this train of reasoning. 

“ My peace of mind ! ” he said. “ There is no more 
peace of mind for me.” 

“ Child ! had I left a doubt to rankle in your heart — 


THE PLEADim. 


337 


had you been forced to hesitate whether to believe Pornic’s 
word or mine — you would never have been free from 
gnawing anxiety. There is no peace while a problem is 
imperfectly solved. But now you know the truth. We 
may now burn, for we have uprooted them, all the roots 
of your past. The wound will soon heal, for there will 
be no poisonous doubt of any kind. I sincerely hope no 
one will continue to make part of this household who may 
keep in remembrance the sufferings of to-day. We must 
cast no shadows on your home.” 

As he spoke M. Pleumeur looked at Pornic, and at 
Madame Gosselin. 

“ You never can prevent,” cried George, passionately, 
“ the withering of all the remembrances of my past life. 
The man I mourned for and whom I thought my father — 
how can I ever forget him ? How can I ever pardon you, 
and yet how dare I curse you ? I am henceforth miserable. 
Oh ! mother, why did you not tell me when I began to 
hope, to love, to grow ambitious of success in life, that I 
had no right to the name I bore, and that my true father 
was format? ” 

‘‘ A martyr, rather, my son ! ” 

“Yes, he did sacrifice himself. But I too was capable 
of self-sacrifice. Had I known the truth I should never, as 
Captain Gosselin’s son, have accepted the hospitality of 
Captain Kemuz, nor have been loaded with the burden of 
a benefit which crushes me to the dust. Since you wish 
me to know all, tell me, M. Pleumeur, why you murdered 
Captain Kernuz.” 

George spoke roughly, for he took a satisfaction in ag- 
gravating to the utmost his own wounds, and making them 
bleed freely ; he also felt an impulse of revolt against the 
tenderness of M. Pleumeur, which seemed an offense to him. 

15 


338 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


“ Of course,” replied M. Pleumeur, well aware of what 
was working in his despairing soul. “ I did what I did, 
because Captain Kernuz, having been informed of every- 
thing through Captain Gosselin’s letter, was about to 
destroy the work of my whole life ; because he was an 
obstruction to be gotten rid of ; because I had placed my 
end — your good — above mere social prejudices ; because 
having begun by accepting the galleys to shield you from 
dishonor in your cradle, I was ready to risk the scaffold to 
assure your happiness, and to open the way for the ambi- 
tion of your manhood. That is the kind of love, my son, 
that I have borne you — that I bear you still. But I had 
not provided against everything. When I left the galleys 
I ought to have defaced my features, and have made my- 
self unrecognizable. I did not think of it. A few gashes 
of the razor across my face would have prevented Pierre 
Borgnot from knowing me. It would not have prevented 
my becoming your master ; it would not have hindered 
your love for me.” 

“It would not have hindered the crime,” sighed 
George. 

“ 'No ; that was rendered inevitable by Captain Gosse- 
lin. See, George,” continued M. Pleumeur, taking out of 
the pocket of his long black coat a packet of papers that 
he handed to him, “ here is the letter I found in Captain 
Kernuz’s pocket-book ; I foresaw this explanation might 
take place some day, and I kept these proofs against my- 
self. I rejoice to be able to take from you even the shadow 
of remorse for driving me away. Read them.” 

George took the papers with a trembling hand. He 
spread them out before him on the table, and in profound 
silence read them through in a few minutes. Several 
times he wiped his eyes ; in every line he found traces of 


TEE PLEADING. 


339 


that fatherly affection for himself which had hut fostered 
[ the hitter rancor of Captain Gosselin, and was the real 
cause of his despairing wanderings up and down the world. 

George felt a fresh gush of filial piety toward the 
memory of the man who was not his father. When he 
had finished reading, he said slowly : 

‘‘ I see that Captain Gosselin had reason to disown me. 
But I see, too, that he suffered deeply, and even died be- 
cause he could not hear to cast me off. Captain Kernuz 
was commissioned to act for him. It was hut right. I 
should have submitted to what was before me.” 

You would have killed yourself, George.” 

George flushed, and cast a rapid look at his wife. 

“Perhaps I should,” he answered, “hut that would 
have been better than this.” 

“ The best thing now,” resumed M. Pleumeur briskly, 
“ is that I should take all the consequences upon myself. 
George, my son, you will flourish like the lily in the Lori- 
ent coat of arms, and you will forget the dunghill from 
which your prosperity took its rise.” 

“ There will he no prosperity — no happiness for me 
henceforth,” sighed George. 

“ I will you to he happy — and you will he.” 

“Your will brings fatal consequences.” 

“My will is love. You scorn my love, I see, but you 
will not thrust aside that of your wife and child.” 

“ My wife, my child ! ” whispered George, almost 
choked by his emotion. Then he sprang up. “Before 
you settled everything for me without my consent, you 
ought to have warned me what a dreadful awakening 
there might he from my illusions ! You should have 
let me stand the shock of this avenging letter. You 
would have found me strong enough to give up all. 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


UO 

Since you — my father — ^had borne infamy for my sake, 
I could at least have borne exile without complaining. 
I admitted that I might have killed myself. It is not 
so. I should have suffered, struggled, and at length have 
begun life again. Berthe would not be now my wife, 
bought with the price of blood ; but I should never have 
forgotten her.” 

“ I should not have given you up,” said Berthe, with a 
burst of affection. 

“ And, perhaps, I might have reconquered you by my 
love and my success in my profession. Blood and dis- 
grace can never be necessary to promote the growth of 
what is good and true. You see your crime was useless. 
You did not give me my wife’s love ; I gained it without 
your help ; I should have kept it without you.” 

M. Pleumeur heard these last words very sadly, and 
passed his hand across his brow to smooth away a frown. 

“ My son,” he said, solemnly, “ I have no right to con- 
sider you ungrateful ; if I have told you what I did before 
you called in the magistrates, I did it not to save myself. 
For my own fate I care little. I long ago pronounced 
sentence on myself. But I wished that you should know 
me. I could not hinder you from loving and I was wrong 
to wish it ; it was contrary to nature ; but I had so much 
cause to repent that I had ever loved ! I wanted to set 
you wholly apart for science — ^but I gave up the strug- 
gle as soon as I knew and appreciated the woman you 
had chosen. I have no fears that you will ever know 
those moments when, drunk with passion, a man awakes 
with the remembrance of a nightmare that will trouble 
him all his after-days. You are living the true life of 
man ; you are living as society and law would have you 
live. You will never dash yourself against opposing 


THE PLEADING. 


341 


circumstances — you will never accuse yourself of a fatal 
step. You will flourish, whatever happens, in the pleni- 
tude of your talents and your strength, and from this 
day forth you may annihilate your mother and myself by 
the brightness of that prosperity whose early dawn we 
carefully prepared in darkness, and whose splendor at full 
noonday we shall never see. I do not ask forgiveness or 
compassion. I only beseech you to endeavor not to hate 
me ; it will then be all the easier for you to cease to re- 
member me. You can say to yourself that pride was my 
ruin — ^unless, indeed, you choose to dignify my infatuation 
by calling it my earnest love for you.” 

George staggered and stretched out both hands invol- 
untarily toward M. Pleumeur. 

But M. Pleumeur held his tight-folded under his arms. 

“ No,” he went on. “ You quite misunderstand me if 
you think I wish to entrap you into a show of feeling. 
Our hands must never again grasp each other. Yours will 
be best in your wife’s clasp ; mine have committed a mur- 
der. You will let me kiss your child again ; he will have 
no remorse for accepting my caress, and I shall not fear 
having pained him. It will not be the first time I have 
held him in my arms. I confess the little theft of which 
I have been often guilty. Your mother was my accom- 
plice ; very often in the garden she let me look at him. I 
shall never see him more, you need not fear ; he is too 
young to remember me.” 

George wept, Berthe’s eyes were half closed, and her 
bosom heaved. Madame Gosselin, looking down, listened 
as if under a spell, with something of the fierce eager- 
ness of her youth, to the words of the powerful man who 
in early life had fascinated her. 

M. Pleumeur, though his voice was unsteady, recovered 


842 


MADAME GOSSELIX. 


himself after a moment’s silence, and, calm to all appear- 
ance, thus went on : 

“ George, I draw no rule of conduct from my life — I 
make my love for you no excuse for what I have done. 
Another man in my place might have done differently — 
but no one could have more certainly assured you that 
which can never he taken away from you. I have gained 
my end. Books tell of savage tribes who get rid of old 
and useless parents. These savages are called monsters 
by the hypocrites of modem society. They are monsters, 
for they attain by brutal means ends that are carefully 
hidden under deceitful phrases in the contracts of society. 
I can do little more for you, but I am proud of having 
served you. Adieu, George ! ” 

George, at the sound of this last word, tried to rush 
toward M. Pleumeur. He forgot everything, save the 
old habit of obedience and affection, which was resuming 
its sway. Berthe also rose. She made an involuntary 
movement to restrain him. M. Mauroy moved forward 
as if to place himself between his son-in-law and the mur- 
derer. 

M. Pleumeur smiled, as he watched the spontaneous 
movement of his son and pupil, but he gave an approving 
nod to Berthe and M. Mauroy ; then, turning toward Por- 
nic, he said suddenly : 

‘‘You must come with me.” 

“ What for ? ” 

“You will see.” 

The sailor hesitated. His anger had by this time died 
out. 

“Are you afraid of the consequences of your own 
work ? ” asked M. Pleumeur sarcastically. 

Pornic looked at him with uplifted eyebrows, trying to 


THE PLEADING, 


343 

summon up all liis courage. The two men exchanged a 
glance. 

I’ll go with you,” said Pornic. 

While Berthe with her arms fast clasped round her 
husband’s neck was hiding M. Pleumeur from his view, 
the mathematician had opened the door, and left the room 
with Pornic. 

Madame Gosselin gave a scream. 

He is going to give himself up ! ” she cried, rising 
and coming into the middle of the room. 

George disengaged himself from the soft clasp of his 
wife, and rushed toward the door. M. Mauroy was be- 
forehand with him, and barred his passage. At that mo- 
ment the door was opened again from without, and M. 
Pleumeur reappeared, holding in his arms the little child 
which he had taken from its nurse in the passage, and 
awakened with a kiss. 

It was a striking picture, rousing tender but irritated 
feelings, to see that ill-fated man bearing in his arms that 
rose-bud babe — that criminal cradling helpless infancy 
— that atheist, upon the altar of whose breast lay what 
usurped with him the place of God — that gloomy ruin 
brightened by one flower. 

The baby was awake, but the kiss that roused him was 
so soft and light that he had not thought bf crying, and 
with his calm, astonished, questioning look; he smiled upon 
the man of marble, as he was wont to smile into the face 
of his mother. 

George drew back in presence of this mediator, to 
whom he dared make no reply. M. Pleumeur’s eyes 
sparkled with unshed tears. Children are often an excuse 
to persons of strong minds when they require some expan- 
sion of their feelings. Any weakness is allowable if a 


844 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


child be its excuse, and there is no fear of being accused 
of an unmanly show of feeling. 

Berthe, who had been expecting her baby for some 
time, made no haste to take him from the arms that held 
him out to her. She was not angry to see him lying on 
the breast of that terrible grandfather who so much needed 
an intercessor. In the presence of the baby, severity itself 
grew less stern, and relaxed under his childish loveliness. 
The baby gave to the departure of the murderer, to the 
sentence of the father by his own children who dared not 
admit him into the circle of their family, all the gentleness 
compatible with patient but inexorable justice. 

M. Pleumeur stopped short in the middle of the 
room. 

“ See my supreme judge ! ” he said softly. “ You all 
see he is not against me; and yet,” added he gravely, “ it 
is only since I have been holding him in my arms that I 
have felt myself to be guilty.” 

So saying, he laid him with deep respect in his mother’s 
arms. 

“ Remember, madame, what I once before told you,” 
he said : ‘‘ place this rose-bud child before George’s eyes, 
whenever George is tempted to fear phantoms, and the 
ghosts of the past will disappear. I leave your husband 
wholly to you.. You will find that you will love him bet- 
ter — and that he will have more pleasure in being loved — 
when I am gone. Adieu, madame ! ” 

He bowed, and then, as Berthe was holding her babe 
and could not withdraw her hands, M. Pleumeur ventured 
to press his lips, which were beginning to burn, on the 
fingers of the little babe, which rested on his mother’s 
hand, and so they touched hers also. 

“ Farewell, my daughter ! ” he said, in a still lower 


THE PLEADING. 


345 


voice. Then, raising himself up, and dropping the veil 
of his eyelids over his eyes that he might see nothing 
more in the room, he walked with a quick step straight to 
the threshold. 

George was paralyzed by an emotion which checked 
every movement or word ; he felt as if the floor must be 
about to open beneath his feet, like the deck of a ship going 
to pieces. M. Mauroy was solemn like a juryman, who, 
having given in his verdict, watches the criminal whom it 
has sentenced being conducted to the gallows. Berthe 
lifted up her baby that M. Pleumeur might take another 
look at him, if he were pleased to turn his head. 

Madame Gosselin, as if drawn into the current of this 
man’s indomitable will, went after him. 

“ Denis,” she said, touching him on the arm, “ where 
are you going ? ” 

“Where you will not follow me.” 

“ Are you going to kill yourself ? ” 

Denis looked at her angrily. 

“ I am going to bury myself,” he said. “ It is long 
since I was dead.” 

“ Denis ! Denis ! Oh, forgive me ! ” 

“It is not for me to forgive you. It is for others 
here present, if you love them — and for Him to whom you 
pray, if you believe in Him, and if He is.” 

This flnal blasphemy was almost a religious utterance ; 
it seemed a kind of prayer, for M. Pleumeur, as he spoke 
it, appeared humble and subdued. 

Madame Gosselin, who now seemed afraid to be left 
alone with her children, then said, with real anxiety; 

“ What will become of me ? Whither shall I go ? ” 

This selfish anxiety extracted a last smile of contempt 
from M. Pleumeur. 


346 


MADAME G0S8ELIN. 


“ Go into a nunnery ! ” said he ; and, turning his back 
upon her after this reply, which he probably had no idea 
was a quotation from “Hamlet,” this man — ^worthy of 
Shakespeare — left the room. 


CHAPTER XXVL 

EXPIATION. 

PoRNic was waiting in the vestibule. He was sad and 
solemn ; he felt that the last scene in the tragedy needed 
him as a witness, and him alone. M. Pleumeur passed his 
hand across his eyes, and said to the sailor : 

“ Xow it is for us to act.” 

It was impossible to misunderstand the general rnean- 
ing of those words. M. Pleumeur was not thinking of a 
duel, nor of any further explanation. Both left the house. 
In the court-yard Pornic wanted to stop and ask a ques- 
tion. 

“No, no,” said M. Pleumeur. “Let us get away as 
soon as possible. We shall have time to talk as we go 
along.” 

“ As we go along ? ” 

“ Certainly ! Did you suppose I meant to make any 
noise in this house ? ” 

He emphasized, in a sort of tragic way, though his 
tones were calm and measured, the words “make any 
noise.” Pornic became almost as pale as Pleumeur. He 
faltered : 

“ Are we going — ” 


EXPIATION. 


347 


“ To the police court ? No ; we shall pass it as we go 
along, but we shall not stop there.” 

Pornic submitted to his ascendency. Pleumeur was a 
man accustomed to command. Pomic made no remark, 
but showed by his appearance that he was ready to obey. 

M. Pleumeur, with a look that invited him to follow 
him, passed into his counting-house. Pornic then saw that 
everything was arranged there as if for a special purpose. 
The papers of his office were all in order, piled upon the 
table. A memorandum, laid on the top of the neat little 
pile, gave full details of all the works finished, and in 
progress, under his care. 

M. Pleumeur pointed to this species of last will and 
testament. 

“ When you get back, Pornic,” he said very gently, 
“ you must inform them that every necessary explanation 
will be found here for those who may take up my work. 
I have not been able to get rid of my gun. There it is, 
unloaded ; you can break it up, or burn it, or give it away, 
without saying anything of its past history. It is an ex- 
cellent weapon. I could not make up my mind to destroy 
it myself.” 

Then, taking his hat, which he carefully brushed round 
with his hand, he added : 

“Now I am ready.” 

He made Pomic go out before him, carefully closed 
the office-door, gave the key to the old sailor, and passed 
on, without giving one look at the dwelling-house, by the 
great gates of the factory. 

When in the street, the two men walked on for some 
time in silence. At the first turning M. Pleumeur paused, 
passed his hand over his damp forehead, and said, in the 
tone of a man setting out for a long walk : 


348 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


“ There is nothing now to hurry us. We have plenty 
of time.” 

“ Whither are we going ? ” asked Pornic. 

M. Pleumeur pointed to the harbor, which glistened in 
the distance under the rays of the noonday sun. He said : 

“ Did you not feel sure of this, Pornic ? ” 

Pornic blushed as if he were telling a lie, but he really 
told the truth, when he answered : 

“Ho ; I could not guess what you intended to do.” 

“I thought you quicker of comprehension. You have 
shown plenty of penetration these past ten days, and this 
morning, too ! ” 

Pornic made no protest against this compliment, whose 
sarcasm, indeed, was lost upon him. He said nothing, and 
they walked onward. He walked at the same pace as M. 
Pleumeur, but every now and then he felt as if he could 
not breathe, and had great difficulty in not pausing to 
take breath again. 

M. Pleumeur was right ; their way lay past the police 
station. The mathematician looked up at the building, 
and said to Pornic : 

“ It is better the end should be as I have planned it. 
Who will take much account of me ? You must silence 
and get rid of Pierre Borgnot. I cannot but think you 
made a great mistake that night in touching my arm.” 

Pornic gave a start of indignation. 

M. Pleumeur made believe to misunderstand the cause 
of the honest sailor’s start, and said : 

“ Oh ! I am not angry with you, Pornic.” 

After this halt, and till they reached the wharves, the 
two men did not exchange another word. When they ar- 
rived at the quay, M. Pleumeur showed Pornic a little 
boat which seemed to be there waiting for them, and said ; 


EXPIATION. 


349 


“ Will that do ? ” 

Pomic was greatly disgusted with himself. The per- 
fect coolness of M. Pleumeur, the calmness with which he 
spoke, the constant tone of mockery which underlaid the 
magisterial simplicity of this strange murderer, the re- 
sponsibility that he felt was on himself in this terrible 
tete-d-Ute^ all greatly worried and agitated the old sailor’s 
mind. 

“ What is the boat for ? ” he asked abruptly. 

“ I very often use it, and sometimes go down in it as 
far as Port Louis. The owner knows me, lends it me, and 
never objects to my taking it in his absence. I told him 
yesterday I should most likely want it this morning. You 
see, I like to be prepared for all eventualities.” 

Pornic did not move ; he stood looking at the boat 
with a sort of defiance in his air. 

“ M. Pornic, you must take the oars to-day.” 

Pomic shook his head violently. “ You must make an 
end of 'this,” he growled. 

‘‘ That is what I am going to do, M. Pornic.” 

“ But there is no need of my going with you ? ” 

M. Pleumeur smiled, and said calmly : 

“ But somebody must bring the boat home.” 

“ Ah, you are a fearful man ! ” 

‘‘ Do you really think so ? Yet I was doing my best 
to play the part of a resigned criminal.” 

Pomic heaved a great sigh, and folded his arms. 

“ If I had only known ! ” he said. 

“ Do not regret what you have done, M. Pomic,” re- 
plied M. Pleumeur, more seriously. “ It was your duty. 
But now you must carry it out to the end. I thank you 
for having spared that young couple — ^my children — a 
scandal which would have added special bitterness to 


350 


MADAME G08SELIK 


their grief. But now you must finish what you have so 
well begun. It is not always agreeable to take ven- 
geance, as I know.” 

“ I don’t want any vengeance, M. Pleumeur.” 

“hTo ; you want only justice. Well, you had better 
be able to bear witness that justice has been satisfied.” 

“ But, is it necessary ? ” 

“ That you should accompany me to the last ? Yes ; 
or it might be supposed I had escaped.” 

“ Suppose you let people think so ? Suppose you go 
a long, long way off ? ” 

“ That was not what you wanted ? ” 

“ I wanted but one thing — to find out the truth. It is 
all found out now. I have seen you suffer enough, since 
I know you are the father of M. George. I am satisfied. 
The rest is between God and your own soul.” 

“ But suppose, M. Pornic, I don’t believe in God, and 
that I haven’t any soul ? ” 

“ Then you are terribly to be pitied.” 

“ At any rate, I had better not be spared.” 

A struggle took place in Pornic’s mind. 

“ N’o ; go at once,” he said, and do not make me 
angry.” 

“ I had rather not give you the chance to repent here- 
after that you left me alone.” 

‘‘ Do you take me for an executioner ? ” 

“ No ; there is no murderer here but myself. You are 
only the witness of the execution.” 

Pornic debated within himself. M. Pleumeur, who 
stood looking at him earnestly, at last took pity upon him, 
and decided to put an end to his compassionate hesitation. 

“ Captain Kemuz,” he said, would not have had your 
scruples ; and that was why I did not spare him.” 


EXPIATION, 


351 


“ Captain Kernuz ! ” 

The mention of his old captain’s name, like a strong 
wind blowing up a pile of smothered ashes till they burst 
into sudden flame, acted upon the heart of Pornic. He 
stamped his foot, doubled his fists, and looked M. Pleu- 
meur full in the face with blood-shot eyes. 

“You are right,” he said, in bitter tones. “ You are a 
villain ; and, if you do not kill yourself, I shall be forced 
to kill you ! ” 

“ All right,” replied M. Pleumeur ; “ now you are 
more reasonable.” 

He got into the boat, and took his place in the stem. 
Pornic got in after him, but his carriage was like that, of 
a man in the first stages of intoxication ; and, when he 
put his heavy, unsteady foot into the little boat, he made 
it rock violently. He loosed it from its moorings, pushed 
it off with one of the oars, and began to row with all his 
might, both to get over the end which lay heavy at his 
heart, and to work off his indignation. The boat slowly 
dropped down the large river which forms the harbor of 
Lorient. Pomic’s head at every stroke almost touched 
the hands which held the oars. M. Pleumeur, on the con- 
trary, sat with his face slightly turned upward, and, with 
an air of satisfaction, seemed to be enjoying for the last 
time the beauty of the sky. 

As they passed the Isle St. Michel, M. Pleumeur broke 
silence : 

“ Do you recollect, M. Pornic, the day that La Belle 
Cleopatre first went down the harbor ? It was just such a 
day as this. I was not one of the guests ; but neverthe- 
less I was sailing with you in spirit. Captain Kernuz 
was very proud that day of being in command of her.” 

The name of Captain Kernuz, uttered by his murder- 


352 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


er, seemed, each time it was spoken, to touch Pomic with 
hot iron. He started, pulled a few strokes furiously, and 
then, as if growing tired of his task, said, in a rough, sav- 
age tone : 

‘‘ Have we to go much farther ? ” 

“ You can pull ashore yonder at Point Keroman ; at 
this time of day the place is sure to be deserted.” 

Point Keroman is the extreme end of Lorient, lying 
round the cuiwe of the harbor. It is a drive veiy much 
frequented by the good society of the city, but only at 
such hours as it is the fashion for good society to take the 
air. It was now mid-day ; the sands were burning hot ; 
and all nature was taking its siesta. Pornic obeyed, and 
in a few minutes the boat reached the spot pointed out to 
him. It was a sandy beach, which had no anchorage. 

M. Pleumeur rose to his feet, and took off his hat very 
gravely. 

“ M. Pornic,” he said, with extreme gentleness, “ will 
you leave me here alone ? Row down to the wood of Ke- 
roman, and then come back — that will be time enough for 
me.” 

Pornic staggered as he tried to stand up. He could 
hardly keep his balance in the boat. He gave M. 
Pleumeur a look in which might have been seen a con- 
fused mixture of anger, contempt, sorrow, and a sort of 
admiration without esteem, all struggling together in his 
soul. However, he rallied, recovered his coolness, and, 
resolutely steadying himself on his legs, replied in a 
hoarse voice : 

“ Suppose I object to leave you here alone?” 

“ Then that will be better still. We shall be doing 
our best to do honor to each other.” 

Pomic, in his turn, took off his round hat, as if in 


EXPIATION. 


353 


presence of some invisible monarch ; let it drop at his 
feet in the boat ; folded his arms, and, with uplifted head 
and shining eyes, replied : 

“ I will wait here.” 

M. Pleumeur put his leg over the side of the boat, 
made a gesture of farewell, though he did not turn his 
head, and proceeded straight along the beach toward the 
point where the Scorff is joined by the Ter. He walked 
straight onward. His step must have been light, for it 
left no print behind it on the sands. But, as soon as he 
stepped into the water, it seemed to Pornic as if this man 
of iron will must have tied lead or marble to his feet. He 
walked into the river with the same slow, regular step, 
and went deeper and deeper out into the troubled waters. 

Pornic gazed after him breathless ; he had no remorse 
at being the witness of this self-murder, but he was quiv- 
ering with a strong feeling that was almost admiration. 

M. Pleumeur did not turn round once. Little he cared 
for being admired or regretted. For about three seconds 
the water was up to his breast ; another step, and the 
sands shelved suddenly. M. Pleumeur disappeared. A 
little wave rippled and closed over his head, leaving no 
trace behind. 

Pornic had a gleam in his eyes and a spasm at his 
heart, but he uttered no cry, and waited. It may have 
been with a secret hope that Pleumeur would come up 
again to the surface, and that he might help him. But it 
almost seemed as if M. Pleumeur’s indomitable will had 
its own way even with death, and that he retained his 
authority even over the green winding-sheet which now 
enveloped him. He did not rise to the surface. Pornic 
waited a long time. 

Involuntarily, as he looked at the water which reflected 


354 : 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


back the sunshine, the sailor’s lips were murmuring words 
which no doubt were prayers ; for,. Breton as he was, he 
made the sign of the cross before putting his hat upon 
his head again, and then, pushing olf the boat, made his 
way back to Lorient. 

As he was about to fasten the boat to the quay, 
Pornic perceived that M. Pleumeur’s hat was still lying 
in her bottom. He appeared greatly embarrassed by this 
last relic, but, after hesitating as to what he had better do 
with it, he picked it up and crushed it with his feet, till it 
was a mass that could never be identified. Then he flung 
it into the stream, and took the road to the house of Mau- 
roy & Gosselin. 


CHAPTER XXVH. 

EEMOESE. 

PoENic’s first care when he got back was to go and 
find Pierre Borgnot, still in the custody of Captain Gosse- 
lin’s sailor. 

‘‘Well,” said the format, “and what does Denis 
Pleumeur say about it ? ” 

Pornic had been thinking, as he came along, what 
answer he should make to this inevitable question. With- 
out being much of a reasoner, the old sailor, whose pow- 
ers of mind had been aroused and sharpened by the past 
week’s work, felt that to preserve round George and 
Berthe the silence and respect necessary to enable them to 
recover their happiness, no advantage must be given the 
format, nor any relations maintained with him. He was, 
therefore, quite resolved not to let him suspect the truth, 


REMORSE, 


355 


and proudly gave himself absolution beforehand for any 
lies he might have to tell. 

He replied, therefore : 

“ M. Denis Pleumeur persists in saying he was never 
called Denis Rambert.” 

“ Just let me stand face to face with him.” 

“ That is impossible. He is gone.” 

“ Gone ! — Escaped ? ” 

“ Yes, forever ! ” 

“ Do you know whither he has gone ? ” 

Pornic lifted up his eyes, and said, this time truly 
enough : 

“ I do not know.” 

‘‘ I’ll go after him ! ” cried Pas de Vis. 

“ You had better try. And yet, if I were you, I had * 
rather keep out of his way. Ho good could come of your 
joining him, and, in case of accident, I should not be there 
next time, you know, to spoil his aim.” 

Pierre Borgnot put his hand instinctively to his neck : 
that is the most sensitive part of the true jail-bird’s anato- 
my ; and in his case it was doubly uncomfortable. He 
allowed himself to be ruled by Pornic’s advice, accepted 
the money offered him, and took leave of his protector 
with any number of oaths that he would not stop in 
Lorient. 

This done, Pornic grew very sad. He had a commis- 
sion to fulfill, a report to give in to the family council. 
Crossing the yard on his way to the dwelling-house, he 
walked with difficulty, like a criminal going to execution, 
and not like a successful avenger. 

He met M. Mauroy. That was a comfort. To him, 
at least, he could tell everything without any preparation, 
and without fear of too much shocking his finer feelings. 


356 


MADAME GOSSELIJV. 


M. Mauroy thought M. Pleumeur had done the very 
best thing that could be done, and that Pornic had done 
his duty. He carried his philosophical precautions so far 
as to take upon himself to keep a watch upon the harbor, 
lest death should violate the dead man’s orders, and the 
corpse should inconveniently reappear. An inquest, even 
though the authorities might remain in the profoundest 
ignorance of all that had preceded the catastrophe, might 
uselessly and dangerously agitate the public mind. 

“ Never fear ! ” said Pornic ; that man was capable 
of sinking himself down to the very depths of the sea, 
and fastening on to the sea-weed at the bottom. His 
body will never float up again.” 

Pornic’s prophecy came true. Whether the Scorff car- 
^ ried M. Pleumeur’s body out to sea, floating and floating, 
till it jostled in far ocean the corpse of Captain Gosselin, 
or whether it remained anchored — chained down, as it were 
— on the spot where it had disappeared, we cannot say. 
Nothing more was ever heard of it. Nothing ever came 
to light concerning either the man or his suicide. 

Pornic learned from M. Mauroy that Madame Gosselin, 
after the departure of M. Pleumeur, had retired to her 
own room. George and his wife had been left alone, the 
baby sleeping on its mother’s bosom. 

“ I saw, by a look my daughter gave me,” said M. 
Mauroy, “that I had better leave her to throw the first 
veil over the terrible wound my son-in-law has had. He 
will get over it, we may be sure. A man less proud and 
more vain might kill himself ; and a man who had not a 
wife like my daughter might die of it. But she will cure 
him.” 

M. Mauroy and the sailor remained conversing for 
about half an hour, walking up and down before the par- 


REMORSE. 357 

lor-windows, as if to let Berthe know that they were at 
hand if she needed help. 

So long as it was only a matter of feeling, Berthe 
needed no help hut that of her child. She suffered 
George to weep, and she wept with him. She did not 
contradict him nor console him when he spoke of seeing 
everything he had loved and reverenced in early life de- 
stroyed at one stroke — all his affections as a child, as a 
pupil, and as a son. 

Every remembrance of his youth rose up to torture 
him. Had the apparent coldness of M. Pleumeur and his 
mother — of which he had been the dupe — been only the 
wicked calculated hypocrisy of two confederates in crime ? 
Must he be ever ashamed of having loved his mother, 
now that he could picture her hastening by night to 
seek out M. Pleumeur, to ask his counsel or to suggest a 
murder ? Could he, with all his sense of rectitude, his 
conscience, and his affection bruised and bleeding, abstain 
from being his mother’s judge ? And if he sat in judg- 
ment on her, what pretext could he find for absolving her 
from the crimes of adultery and murder? 

Berthe prudently abstained from suggesting either in- 
dulgence or pardon. But she kissed him so fervently, 
with such true and tender feeling, that he said to himself, 
confusedly : 

“ Ah, if my mother had only loved my father thus ! ” 
And as he made this comparison, he experienced a feeling 
of pride in his own happier lot, which was the beginning 
of consolation. 

He tried to think no more of Captain Gosselin, but, in 
spite of himself, he remembered that the poor man had 
come to his death mainly because he could not but con- 
tinue to love the innocent boy who was the fruit of his 
own dishonor. 


358 


MADAME G0S8ELIN. 


And at this thought he said to Berthe : 

“ Ah ! if he had been my father — if he had been still 
living — he would have been here between us now.” 

This thought seemed to assuage in some degree the 
bitterness of the recollection. As for M. Pleumeur, he 
shuddered when he thought of him ; and every time his 
pale face rose before his memory he bent over the baby, 
trying to get rid of the impression that he could not bear, 
by the remembrance of the infant’s smile of mediation, 
and the last kiss of its grandfather. 

Berthe’s sympathy followed all the many phases of his 
grief. She said to herself that till her husband’s sorrow 
was assuaged, she would take no thought of her own re- 
grets or her own sorrow. She set herself aside, and gave 
herself wholly up to George. 

At length a scruple that arose in the conscience of the 
young engineer came very near getting the better of his 
wife’s soft kisses and loving words. George, when his 
first paroxysm of grief had a little worn off, suddenly ex- 
claimed that he could not be the heir of Captain Kernuz. 
How could he keep a fortune acquired by a murder ? 
Since he had not felt he had the right to forgive the 
murderer, how could he quietly accept the benefits of the 
crime ? 

“ I was the cause of the murder,” he exclaimed. “ How 
can I profit by it ? ” 

Berthe had expected this. 

“You are right,” she said, “but take care that a sense 
of honor does not drive you to injustice.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” cried George, astonished at 
this objection and the way in which Berthe put it. 

“You did not accept this fortune, love,” she said, “ to 
live in idleness, nor for the pride of feeling yourself a rich 


REMORSE. 


359 


man. You accepted it that you might the better work 
for your living. It has been made fruitful by your in- 
telligence. Will you cast away all the fruits of your 
labor because the means in your hands are now twice as 
great as the original inheritance ? ” 

“ If Captain Kemuz had lived, I should have quitted 
this place — I should be now employed in some other fac- 
tory — I should not be the head of this house.” 

George, you do me wrong by thinking that I should 
have loved you less because of your misfortune. You 
know that I should have been your wife under any cir- 
cumstances.” 

Yes — but not here.” 

Why not ? Have you forgotten the visit my father 
and I made you when we thought you had no money ? ” 
“No; but had Captain Kernuz lived, he would, in 
order to avenge Captain Gosselin, have driven me forth 
with public scandal.” 

“ The scandal would not have attached itself to you. 
I should have loved you even more than ever, and my 
father would not have ceased to think well of you — I defy 
you to convince me to the contrary,” she added, drawing 
him toward her, and pressing down his face, all red with 
grief and tears, beside the sweet little rose-tinted face of 
her sleeping child. “Whatever had happened, dearest 
George, I should have been a willful woman. Suppose I 
had married you because of your fortune — suppose my 
father had foreseen, foreknown, that Captain Kernuz had 
made his will — would you have given up baby and me 
now, because we had been won by false pretenses ? Would 
you leave me, if you thought our marriage was one of the 
results of this crime ? You have heard cruel words, and 
must forget them. It is not crime that triumphs in our 


360 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


house ; it will be our own innocence, more powerful than 
crime. Ah ! George, I am as anxious as you are for your 
being without spot upon your honor ! We must come to- 
gether out of this great trial — be both together in our 
sense of duty. It is not enough that we should love each 
other as husband and wife to be happy. We must love each 
other so much that we can afford to be free from every 
other tie. You have become an orphan, dearest ; I have 
love enough to supply the wants of your heart, however 
great its need, and I would not keep one of the accessories 
of our happiness, if I thought the slightest shadow of a 
stain could accompany its possession. I would accept 
poverty with you — I would even pray God to give it us, 
if it stood between us and the shadow of any righteous 
cause for remorse. But, supposing you had had nothing 
from Captain Kernuz, do you not think that, with only 
the fortune that I brought you, you would now be rich ? 
Not so rich as we are now, of course, nor so quickly rich 
as we have become. But the prosperity we have acquired 
in all innocence ought not to distress you. Your prosperity 
has been honorably gained. You do not wish to keep 
Captain Kernuz’s fortune ? Give it back ; but be not 
ashamed that we find ourselves in a position in which we 
need it no longer. I do not say that Captain Kernuz 
would wish to leave it in your hands were he now living ; 
no ; restore it as if he were asking it back again ; but 
only give back the fortune that he left you. Do not ruin 
me — ah ! George, in your excess of delicacy do not ruin 
our child, through a morbid sense of honor.” 

Berthe, who several times had tried to smile, here 
ended her little speech by a long kiss wet with her tears. 
But George held out against her. He was fearful of con- 
sulting his own interests at a moment when all his soul 


BEMOBSE. 


361 


cried out for expiation. He wanted to make amends for 
his mother’s sins, and for the crime of M. Pleumeur, by 
some heroic sacrifice of his own prosperity. 

Berthe pleaded long, and her arguments, strengthened 
hy her silent looks and caresses, made some impression, 
though her husband did not altogether yield ; and at last, 
when for the twentieth time he told her that he wished to 
punish himself for having been the pretext for such crime 
and ignominy, she said, with a sadness which made her 
more noble than ever in the eyes of George : 

“ Be sure that you will have always sadness enough 
under the surface of your prosperity to prevent your be- 
ing ashamed of too much happiness. I do not say forget ! 
We will always remember — together. We will do our 
best to do our duty ; to bring up our children well, if this 
darling is hut the pledge of a larger family circle ; to 
make this treasure resemble his father, if he is to he our 
only one ; and we will look upon the past as a terrible 
lesson, of which, indeed, we do not understand the need, 
but from which we may draw profit, notwithstanding.” 

George’s resistance was hy this time prolonged only 
that he might listen longer to the voice of his wife, which 
seemed to sink lovingly into the depths of his soul. He 
enjoyed his consolation, and slightly prolonged his expres- 
sions of despair. If you believe him the less sincere on 
that account, you will do him great injustice. An instinct 
of making the most of a great grief is one of the last 
stages of a sorrow passing off in a pure soul. There 
comes a moment when the sorrow that one cannot uproot 
begins to give forth fragrance, and to hud. Such a time 
had now come to George, who was born with a vocation 
for happiness. 

Berthe was not weary of her arguments, hut she mod- 
16 


862 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


estly trusted most to that wifely eloquence which depends 
more on tender caresses than on spoken words. 

She profited by a silence on George’s part which was 
an acknowledgment of defeat, and rose, placing her sleep- 
ing baby m an easy-chair. Then, drawing near a window, 
she made a sign to her father and to Pomic to come in. 
She was bringing up fresh forces to complete the vic- 
tory. 

As Pornic entered, George’s eyes questioned him with 
an anxiety that almost overcame the sailor ; but he bore 
himself as bravely as he could, and replied to the mute 
question. 

“ He has left us forever.” 

“ Left us ! ” repeated George, anxiously. 

“ Yes ; and I shall go to-mon’ow.” 

“Would you leave us, Pomic?” 

“ He said, this morning — and it was the truth — that no 
one of those who have made you suffer so much ought to 
remain. My presence would weigh upon you — and I 
should be more uncomfortable still.” 

“ Perhaps you are right, Pornic.” 

Berthe then spoke, and, addressing the sailor, said : 

“ Pomic, did you ever know anything of Captain Ker- 
nuz’s heirs ? ” 

Pornic was quite taken aback by this question. He 
looked at Berthe, George, M. Mauroy, and the ceiling, try- 
ing to understand the motive of the question. At last he 
said : 

“ Heirs ! I know no other heirs but you ! ” 

The reply was childlike — almost sublime — taken in 
connection with the work so lately undertaken by Pornic, 
and just brought to a conclusion. 

“ You must try and hunt them up for me,” said George, 


REMORSE. 


363 


whose face grew red ; “ and we will search for them like- 
wise.” 

M. Mauroy understood it all. He had the good taste 
not to he surprised ; nor did he remonstrate, nor express 
the smallest regret. He knew, besides, that the loss of this 
fortune would not ruin his son-in-law ; and, if he had cal- 
culated on Captain Kerauz’s money when he gave his con- 
sent to his daughter’s marriage, he was too good a man to 
advise his children to keep it, now that it had a stain of 
blood. 

He went straight up to his daughter, kissed her cor- 
dially on both cheeks, and then turning round and taking 
George by both his hands, he said : 

‘‘ You are right, my son, quite right ; only I hope you 
will add another merit to your restitution, that of prevent- 
ing your ever being praised for it. This act of justice 
must be done in secret. If it ever gets talked about, it 
may bring about the public notice which we wish to 
avoid.” 

Pornic turned over all the leaves of his memory, but 
he could not discover the smallest clew to any kind of re- 
lation belonging to his captain. It was the total absence 
of family that had led the captain to make his will as he 
had done. 

George looked over all the papers that had come into 
his possession as sole heir. He resolved to make the most 
careful search, and began, indeed, that very day. Cap- 
tain Kemuz was born at Lorient, so that inquiries were 
easy. George was occupied about them several weeks, 
and thus brushed oif the first bitterness of the late discov- 
eries. 

Madame Gosselin had no need to pretend that she was 
sick as an excuse for staying in her chamber. She had 


364 


MADAME GOSSELIK 


her meals sent up to her. Berthe several times went with 
her baby and knocked at her door. She thought the child 
might call forth some expression of feeling which might 
soften the widow’s heart, and dispose her to repentance ; 
but Madame Gosselin remained cold and impenetrable. 
It was uncertain whether her resentment against her 
daughter-in-law was stronger than her maternal feelings, 
or whether the habit of hypocrisy had completely be- 
numbed her conscience, and prepared her for that peace pre- 
dicted for her by M. Pleumeur. At the end of five days 
she asked an interview with her son, and made known to 
him, in the presence of his wife, that she had decided to 
go into a convent, “ being useless,” she said, to the hap- 
piness of her children, and being good for nothing hence- 
forth but meditation and prayer.” 

George was at liberty, if he pleased, to believe that 
repentance might be taken for granted in this enumera- 
tion as standing between meditation and prayer. 

He made no objection. He even facilitated his moth- 
er’s entrance into the convent she selected at Nantes, 
making her an allowance worthy of his position, and 
promising her a suitable portion, should she decide to take 
the veil. 

The widow quitted her son’s house without a tear, 
without even asking to give a kiss to the little child she 
had cradled on her bosom. It seemed as if she had only 
cared for the child because M. Pleumeur loved it so well. 

George bore the separation manfully. He made ar- 
rangements to get constant news of the recluse without ask- 
ing her to write to him, but he never communicated what 
he heard to Berthe, feeling unwilling to impose too much 
on her wifely devotion. But Berthe without his knowing 
it was kept fully informed as to Madame Gosselin’s life. 


BJEMOBSE. 


365 


At tlie end of six months she was not astonished to hear 
that she was looking remarkably well ; that she had de- 
cided not to take the veil ; and that she edified the com- 
munity by her assiduity in all church services ; by her 
especial devotion to the rosary ; and by her munificence 
every time any great ceremony put the Sisters to extraor- 
dinary expense. 

Pornic helped George in his search for the heirs of 
Captain Kemuz, but their joint efforts were unsuccessful. 
George, who did not wish to gain credit for what was 
only an act of strict obligation, had the greatest trouble 
in the world in founding anonymously hospitals for sick 
seamen, and schools for the children of sailors. However, 
before the end of two years, he had managed to expend 
in charities and foundations for the public benefit all the 
fortune received from Captain Kernuz. He added to it 
somewhat of his own means for fear of keeping the shadow 
of a benefit from that which he restored to him who had 
gone. 

By the time this was done he looked and felt less sad. 
Pornic went and lived a few leagues from Lorient. From 
time to time he came to see them. George always re- 
ceived him with great regard and gravity. They had 
several interviews quite alone together, and Berthe, who 
respected all her husband’s secrets, never liked to ask what 
passed on those occasions. But having watched him sev- 
eral times after these interviews, and seen that his eyes 
were sad and dreamy, she became certain that George, 
whenever Pornic came to see them, made him tell him 
over again the whole story of the last moments of M. 
Pleumeur. She noticed, too, that he liked to walk on the 
sands at the Point of Keroman, that thence he would 
gaze long at the harbor, and the two rivers mingling 


366 


MADAME GOSSELIN. 


their waters together, and bearing their united tribute to 
the ocean. His thoughts would wander upon such occa- 
sions to that far distant unknown spot where still might 
be floating some last remnant of Captain Gosselin or of 
M. Pleumeur. 

Berthe and George are now happy. True happiness 
must be watered by tears to strengthen its stem and to 
renew its verdure. A man can only breathe well when 
he has suffered. Some sadness in our lives prevents 
us from becoming too bewilderingly happy ; and, taken 
in small doses, sorrow serves to make life more active, 
and to maintain that moderation in which the soul may 
flourish best without undue expansion. 

Berthe has a second child, a little girl, who is growing 
up fair and beautiful, like the lily of Lorient on the blue 
globe of her father’s prosperity. 

As for Madame Gosselin, time does not age her, but 
she seems to have become embalmed. She is the edifica- 
tion of the convent. It will not be sui’prising if at her 
death there is found floating around her an odor of sanc- 
tity. 

And yet who can know if she even ever believed in 
God ? But her devotion will be handed down as an ex- 
ample to posterity. 


THE END. 


SAMUEL BfiOHL AID COIPAIT. 

From the French of VICTOR CDERBULIEZ. 

Paper, 6o Cents ; Cloth, $i.oo. 


From the New York World. 

**The book is one of the best of even Cherbuliez’s novels. No 
one needs to be told that this is high praise. . . . Nowhere has 
the ideal adventurer been portrayed with more skill, more art, more 
genius even, than Cherbuliez has portrayed him in this novel.” 

From the New York Evening Post. 

“ The story illustrates anew what has been illustrated a thou, 
sand times, namely, that in the art of story-telling the French are 
masters, whose skill we English-speaking folk can never learn. It 
is not as novelists that they excel us, for there are English novels 
enough to contradict that; but as deft-handed story-tellers and 
deft-handed playwrights the French are much superior to any other 
race.” 

From the London Examiner. 

“ M. Cherbuliez is a very clever novelist, certainly one of the 
cleverest of the second rank of living French novelists. A new 
novel from his pen is always something to be looked forward to 
with pleasure ; and if of late his novels have not been so remark- 
able as formerly, they are always exceedingly readable. But ‘ Sam- 
uel Brohl et Cie ’ is more than merely readable ; it is as good in 
its way as anything that M. Cherbuliez has ever done.” 

From the New York Express. 

“ The Appletons have commenced the publication of a ‘Col- 
lection of Foreign Authors,’ which is destined, we think, to be a 
success, and which certainly will be a success if its forthcoming 
volumes are as good as its first one, which is entitled ‘ Samuel 
Brohl & Company,’ and is by that adroit story-teller, Victor Cher- 
buliez. We do not intend to give away the plot of this remark- 
able novel, which is a marvel of ingenuity from beginning to end.” 

From the Philadelphia Item. 

“ ‘Samuel Brohl & Company’ is a powerful work, possessing 
a strong, skillfully-constructed plot, and is admirably elaborated - 
in all its details.” 


GERARD’S MARRIAGE 


A NOVEL. 

From the French of ANDUE THEUBIET. 

(FORMING No. II. OF “ A COLLECTION OF FOREIGN A UTHORS.") 


i6ino. Paper covers, 50 cents ; cloth, 75 cents. 


“As exquisite in its form, color, and delicacy, as a choice piece of Sevres 
porcelain .” — Literary World. ‘ 

‘‘ This lovely idyl of French provincial life introduces to the notice of Amer- 
ican readers Theuriet, one of the most quietly enjoyable among modern French 
novelists, and one who holds rank among the highest for his portraiture of the 
charms of country landscapes, and the sweet peace and happiness clustering 
around country-life.”— Journal. 

“ Its chief merit lies in the admirable skill with which it is told, the skill in 
apt narration, which seems to be a birthright of all Frenchmen, and which 
men of other races never fail to admire, and never succeed in imitating.” — 
Nexo TorJc Evening Post. 

” There is much charm in the narrative, the characters are vigorously sketched, 
the descriptive portions, especially of out-door life, are picturesque and ani- 
mated, and the whole is distinguished by grace and delicacy.”— Poston Gazette. 

” ‘ Gerard’s Marriage ’ is as exquisite of its kind as Tennyson’s ‘ Princess,’ 
and its moral is that of the old song, ‘Love will find out the way.’”— AVta 
YorTc Express. 

” The use of these simple materials is so artistic, and the story is so deftly 
told, that the book is delightful from beginning to end .” — Detroit Post. 

” The story is pleasant, the characters drawn with that light, firm touch, pe- 
culiar to a Frenchman ; the colloquy, if not brilliant, always to the purpose, and 
about the whole there plays a poetic light that is not the less charming because 
it is so wholly French. "—New York World. 

“ Andre Theuriet excels in the painting of rural scenes, and the skillful 
management of romantic comedy .” — Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

” The story is told, particularly the trials of the lovers, with great vivacity 
and brilliancy, in which particulars the French seem to excel all other nations.” 
—Boston Commonwealth. 

‘‘Affords, a charming illustration of the exceeding elegance, refinement, and 
delicacy, that mark the romances of Andre Theuriet, one of the most graceful 
and popular French novelists of the present time .” — Providence Journal. 


New York: D. APPLETON & CO., Publishers. 


S P I R I T E: 

A FANTASY. 

FROM THE FRENCH OF TH^IOPHILE GAUTIER. 

(Forming No. 3 of the “ Collection of Foreign Authors.”) 

Paper cover ^ 60 cents ; cloth, 76 cents. 


“ The third volume of the Appletons’ popular ‘ Collection of For- 
eign Authors ’ is one of the most remarkable books that we ever 
remember to have read. It is written by a great master of romance, 
the late Theophile Gautier, and is characterized by him as ‘ A Fan- 
tasy.’ It belongs to the same class of imaginative creation as 
‘ Undine,’ and is managed with most extraordinary skill. . . . An 
exquisite prose poem, as glowing and pure as Keats’s ‘ Eve of St. 
Agnes.’ ” — New York Express. 

“ The artistic effect of this fantasy is very fine. It appeals to 
that love of the supernatural which exists, active or dormant,, in 
almost every human heart.” — Utica Daily Observer. 

“ The glowing, picturesque style of the author makes the story 
very attractive reading.” — Boston Gazette. 

“ It exercises a subtile spell, a fascination over the reader, which 
compels him to go on to the end. Although it deals with the super- 
natural, it is filled with the beautiful things of earth and of human 
life.” — Utica Herald. 

“ A very interesting little story, in which what is now called ma- 
terialization is very gracefully idealized, and in which communion 
with departed spirits is shown in its most attractive aspects.” — 
Boston Courier. 

“ The story is very cleverly woven, and, when once in the reader’s 
hands, we venture to say that it will be perused to the last line be- 
fore it is laid aside.” — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

“ The ethereal grace and subtilty of this sparkling fantasy lift 
it into the fairy realm, and give to it the liquid beauty of the dia- 
mond.” — Albany (N. Y.) Argus. 

“ Now we have Theophile Gautier’s matchless fantasy of ‘ Spirite,’ 
full of sweet mysticism, of revelation, of personality, and of gorgeous 
language and imagery.” — Suiiday Herald (Washington). 

“ Gautier tells the fantastic story with an inimitable purity and 
grace that will delight readers of cultivated imagination, especially 
those whose metaphysical tastes find interesting material for thought 
in the shadowy realms within the gates that lead to the life immor- 
tal.” — Providence Journal. 

D. APPLETON & CO., Publishers, Broadway, N. Y. 


THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT 


From the French of GEORGE SAND. 

Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, 75 cents. 


From ihe New York World. 

“It is characteristically charming. In it love — that passion all of whose manifes- 
tations and varieties George Sand has shown us better than any other novelist, perhaps 
— is treated with a delicacy and sweetness that recall ‘ Monsieur Sylvestre ; ' and the 
grace inseparable from George Sand's writings marks the work throughout.” 

From the New York Evening Post. 

“Characteristic of its author. The narrative is full of action, and the dialogue is 
sprightly, and often spirited. There is enough both of interest in the incidents and 
variety in the characters agreeably to beguile an hour stolen from the ordinary fatigues 
of life.” 

From the New York Commercial Advertiser. 

“As a story of French provincial life, it introduces us to the middle classes, and to 
many strong and interesting characters. The book will be widely read, and its simple 
naturalness treasured.” 


From the New York Sun, 

“ .So boundless were the stores of observation accumulated by this writer, and such 
the expertness acquired by the incessant practice of a long life that, during her last 
years, she was able to throw off stories of more than average charm with extraordinary 
celerity. * The Tower of Percemont’ was well worth translation.” 

From the Springfield Republican. 

“ The heroine of this ' Tower of Percemont’ is a new variety of the womanly char- 
acter which George Sand spent her long life in delineating, without ever reproducing 
fhe same exact type. The story is interesting in itself, and continues so until the end, 
while the characters are clearly drawn.” 

From the Boston Commonwealth. 

“ It was the last work of the famous novelist, and is worthy of her fame. ITie story 
is essentially French, and displays the author’s sparkle and grace of manner, being 
full of love and romance, while there is a skillfully-constructed and ingenious plot.” 

From the Providence Journal. 

“ It is a charming transcript of French provincial life, glowing with the inspiration 
of a keen sense of natural beauty ; the characters are vigorously outlined, the coloring 
is vivid and artistically blended, and the plot is ingeniously developed, and full of 
touches true to life.” 


D. APPLETON & CO., 549 & 551 Broadway, New York. 


META HOLDENIS. 

From the French of VICTOR CHERBULIEZ, 

Author of “ Samuel Brohl and Company,” etc. 

Paper, 50 cents. ... Cloth, 75 cents. 


Fro7n the New York Evening Post. 

“ The story is a good one in itself, wholly unlike the story we expect in a novel. 
M. Cherbuliez is an artist, a genius, to whom all things are possible; else his success 
in writing this story in another than his own personality — creating a distinct individual, 
and then making his creature tell it from his own point of view, with perfect verisimili- 
tude — would have been impossible. It is admirable in itself, and as an example of the 
high art of narration.” 

From the New York Express. 

“ A powerful story, whose characters are clearly portrayed, and whose accessories 
of landscapes and the like are beautifully painted.” 

From the New York World. 

“Cherbuliez is, after Balzac and George Sand, the first novelist of France. He is 
more of an artist, and has more insight into human motives and actions, than other con- 
temporary French novelists.” 

From the New York Sun. 

“A companion-piece to ‘Samuel Brohl and Company,’ and a book which should 
renew the notable success gained by the English version of the latter novel. In the 
present volume we trace the fortunes of a winsome and insinuating governess, so hap- 
pily fashioned by Nature for strategy and wiles as to continually delude herself. As 
we have previously spoken of Cherbuliez in connection with ‘ Samuel Brohl and Com- 
pany,’ we need only add that the action of ‘ Meta Holdenis ’ is somewhat more fervid 
and vigorous, and the development of the plot more piquant to curiosity. We com- 
mend it to the reader as the most captivating translation from the French which has 
been printed in a twelvemonth.” 

Frofn the Philadelphia Item. 

“ ‘ Meta Holdenis ’ holds the attention of the reader throughout, as the analysis of 
character; the dialogue, the descriptions, and the details of the novel, are all in Chcr- 
buliez’s most animated and sparkling manner.” 

From the Hartford Courant. 

“Anything more skillfully wrought out than the character of ‘Meta Holdenis’ we 
have not met in a long time.” 

From the Boston Courier. 

“ The story is artfully contrived and graphically told, with that genius for the dex- 
terous management of details which all Frenchmen seem to possess in some measure, 
but which M. Cherbuliez has in an eminent degree.” 


D. APPLETON & CO., 549 & 55^ Broadway, New York. 


ROMANCES OF THE EAST. 

(Nouvelles Asiatiques.) 

From the French of COMTE DE GOBINEAU. 

Paper 6o cents ; cloth, $i.oo. 

From the New York Sun. 

“ The writer, who is still in the diplomatic service of France, was at one time min- 
ister at Teheran, and in one of the stories here collected has given us a singularly viva- 
cious and faithful sketch of Persian manners. As studies in local color these stories 
will be prized, yet they have considerable literary merit Here and there, as in the 
Persian tale called the * History of Gamber-Aly,' there are gleams of veritable humor. 
There is at all times a briskness in these narratives which in one instance is wrought up 
to dramatic intensity.” 

From the New York World. 

“It is as studies of the Asiatic temperament and character that these stories are to 
be considered, and so considered they are easily seen to be admirable. M. de Gobi- 
neau’s faculty of observation is surprisingly acute, his carefulness in generalization is 
far greater than that of many of his countrymen, and his powers as a writer are emi- 
nent.” 

From the New York Herald. 

D. Appleton & Co. are doing a good work with their ‘Collection of Foreign Au- 
thors,’ by introducing us to books and authors that are comparatively unknown in 
America. Under the tide of ‘ Romances of the East ’ this firm has published the Comte 
de Gobineau’s exquisite little ‘ Nouvelles Asiatiques.’ It is almost impossible to be- 
lieve that he is not a native Persian ; his stories have all the knowledge and sentiment 
of a native author. If the book receives the welcome it deserves, its success is assured.” 

From the New York Evening Express. 

“These stories are radiant with the light of the Orient. ‘The Dancing-Girl of 
Shamakha ’ is a fearful exhibit of the sort of life and society, inebriety, injustice, and 
immorality, that obtains In countries overrun by the Russians. ‘The History of Gam- 
ber-Aly,’ as a picture of the inner high life of Persia, is wonderful, and its hero takes 
his place in fiction with the rogues of Moliere and the inimitable Gil Bias. In ‘ The 
War with the Turkomans ’ we see, as never before, the interior and exterior life of the 
Persian military power. ‘ The Illustrious Magician ’ has for its moral that love is the 
greatest magician, and ‘ The Lovers of Kandahar ’ Is an exquisite and terrible tragedy 
of an Oriental Romeo and Juliet. We are not sure that this volume is not the best yet 
published in this popular ‘Collection of Foreign Authors.’ ” 

From the Boston Daily Globe. 

“ Interesting enough, considered merely as fiction, the volume is far more valuable 
as a collection of studies of national character. The author divines the Orient with 
that perfect consistency which makes French literary portraiture seem as accurate as 
a reflection in a mirror.” 


D. APPLETON & CO., 549 & 551 Broadway, New York. 


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COLLECTION OF FOREIGN AUTHORS, 


The design of the “Collection of Foreign Authors ” is to give selec- 
tions from the better current light literature of France, Germany, and 
other countries of the European Continent, translated by competent hands. 
The series is published in uniform i6mo volumes, at a low price, and 
bound in paper covers and in cloth. 

PAPER. CLOTH. 


I. SAMUEL BROHL AND COMPANY. A Novel. 

From the French of Victor Cherbuliez - - -$o.6o $i.oo 

II. GERARDOS MARRIAGE. A Novel. From the 

French of Andre Theuriet - .... .50 .75 

III. SPIRITE. A Fantasy. From the French of Theo- 

PHiLE Gautier 50 .75 

IV. THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. From the 

French of George Sand .50 .75 

V. META HOLDENIS. A Novel. From the French 

of Victor Cherbuliez .50 .75 

VI. ROMANCES OP THE EAST. From the French 

of Comte de Gobineau .60 i.oo 

VII. RENEE AND FRANZ. From the French of Gus- 
tave Haller .50 .75 

VIII. MADAME GOSS E LIN. From the French of Louis 

Ulbach .60 i.oo 


OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 

“ ‘Gerard’s Marriage’ is as exquisite in its form, color, and delicacy, as a choice piece 
of Sevres porcelain .” — Literary World. 

” ‘ Samuel Brohl and Company,’ in short, deserves attention, as being the ripest and 
most captivating performance of one of the first novelists now living in France.” — N. Y. 
Sun. 

“ ‘Spirite’ exercises a subtile spell, a fascination over the reader, which compels him 
to go on to the end .” — Utica Herald. 

“ ‘ The Tower of Percemont ’ is equal to the best of George Sand’s smaller romances; 
the portraits of all her characters are skillfully drawn, and the descriptions of Nature 
are exquisite. When shall we see another such a writer? ” — Express. 

“ ‘ Meta Holdenis ’ is altogether admirable, both in itself and as an example of the high 
art of narration .” — Evening Post. 

D. APPLETON »Sr» C6>., Publishers, New York. 

*** Either of the above volumes sent by mail, post-paid, to any address in the United 
States or Canada, upon receipt of the price. 








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